


Difficulty Engaged

by klmeri



Series: McSpirk Multi-Chaptered Stories [25]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Developing Relationship, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-01-10 18:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klmeri/pseuds/klmeri
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda.  But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don't understand.





	1. Part One

When the crowd lessens the first time, McCoy hopes he has found his way from this maze-like waystation. But to his dismay, he quickly discovers he has instead reached one of the night-zone areas, a row of clubs and bars meant to entice shop-weary travelers to indulge in refreshments and a different kind of entertainment. The gangways ahead are a ghost town during day hours, the establishments lining the walls unmistakably closed. So, with reluctance, he turns back and finds himself once more rejoining the blend of local residents, tourists, and shoppers of the main thoroughfare.

"Should of stayed on the ship," he mutters to himself. 

He jerks to a stop when the press of beings turns suddenly to a confused cluster. Lifting up slightly, he spies the problem: no one can pass a gigantic hovercart stalled across the path. Alongside many others, Leonard eventually elbows his way to freedom, darting into another stream of traffic that forms a braid steadily between the tables and fountains in the central plaza. By the time the stream ferries him into the next section of the station, he feels so thoroughly turned around, he takes a seat on the nearest bench. 

As much as Leonard hates to admit it, he's lost.

He had only wanted to explore a little on his own, the purpose being there wouldn't be any noses but his own poking into his business. Who knew a Vulcan could be so interested in every artifact or trinket McCoy gave a passing glance? It's as if Spock had been trying to analyze Leonard's tastes, which of course is complete and utter _nonsense_. Why would Spock—a sometimes-friend and a more frequent irritation—want to know his likes and dislikes? Surely the Vulcan criticizes him plenty already!

A secret little part of McCoy is pleased; mostly that part of him which he often tries to keep quiet because it also tends to acknowledge when he crosses the line from arguing to flirting (although it's doubtful to Leonard that Spock with his literal-mindedness has picked up on this change).

McCoy harrumphs, then, grudgingly also admitting to himself in that moment a pair of pointed ears would be a welcome sight. There are so many varied and colorful individuals milling about, Starfleet uniforms are simply another splotch in the melee. But those ears! Leonard could pick them out of a crowd for certain.

For the umpteenth time, Leonard gropes for the communicator he had forgotten to bring along. At this rate, he will have to ask a patrolman for help, who will probably herd him to Lost & Found like a wayward child and call up the Enterprise to come and get him. Good grief, if Jim hears about it—or worse yet ends up being the one to retrieve him!—Leonard won't be able to look the man in the eyes for at least a month.

 _Not an option_ , he decides. 

Leonard is an intelligent adult who generally has a decent sense of direction. By god, he will find the way back himself even if it takes all blasted day!

A shadow falls across him, then, of a delicate, humanoid shape. A female, McCoy sees when he looks up, standing only a couple arm lengths away. 

She smiles sweetly at him. "Could you help me?"

He jumps to his feet. "Ma'am?"

"I think I'm lost!"

Leonard flushes. "Well, I—I'm not the best fellow to assist you," he explains with regret. "Frankly I'm not sure of where I am, either."

"Oh," she says before adding kindly, "I understand... but perhaps two may discover a solution where one cannot?"

He dips his head slightly. "Where are you trying to get to?"

"My cousin's ship." She lifts a small fabric bag for him to see. "I came to shop and soon found myself carried away. The time to return is past." As she says this, she seems to shrink with helplessness while looking around. "Except I cannot determine which direction I must go! This station is so big."

"And crowded to the point of confusion," he adds, rueful.

She steps toward him, echoing a similar sentiment. 

It's his natural inclination to help, and so he offers a hand. "I'm Leonard."

She appears to know the Terran custom of shaking hands. "Your outfit is a uniform, correct? But it is not familiar to me."

He taps the insignia on his tunic. "I serve in Starfleet. I'm a doctor."

"Starfleet," she repeats with a lilt. "Then it is my good fortune to have met you, Leonard of Starfleet. I am Ruti."

"Nice to meet you too, Ruti. Shall we see if we can't find a map or a directory?"

In charity together, Leonard and his new companion leave the bench in their wake.

~~~

"You lost him," Jim Kirk summarizes, locking gazes with the man standing stiffly opposite him.

"Not precisely, Captain."

Jim waves away the formality—and Spock's disinclination to own any fault for their current situation. "Spock," he says with a sigh, proceeding to choose his words with care, "can you guess where he could have gone?"

"Remarkably few opportunities were available to observe which items held the Doctor's interest, therefore I highly doubt any guess would be sufficiently accurate."

Jim almost retorts, "Guesses don't need to be precise," but knows the futility of saying so to a Vulcan. 

Spock goes on, "I suspect he was aware of my scrutiny."

Kirk pinches the bridge of his nose, then. He should have gone with the pair; would have, in fact, if it hadn't been for that last-minute conference Komack had all but ordered him to attend. 

After a moment of silence, he decides, "All right, here's what we are going to do. First thing, forget the mission."

Spock's brows pinch together. "Jim."

Kirk refuses to be swayed. "There'll be another opportunity—unless we don't recover Bones at all, which is why finding him takes priority." Spock doesn't argue that point, but then again Jim does not expect him to when the logical approach is so obvious. He steps off the gangplank that connects his ship to the port and passes Spock. "Second, I'm not taking the chance we lose each other. No splitting up under _any_ circumstances."

"Acknowledged." Spock pivots around, falling into step with him. "Although clearly it would be more befitting for Dr. McCoy to be made aware of this directive."

He slants a look at the Vulcan. "Don't get cute with me. I was looking forward to the next few days—and now we're out the main attraction!"

"That is not a statement I would repeat to our 'attraction'."

Jim snorts as they cross the invisible border between the docking sector and the main station. "If only Bones knew how smitten you are. Lucky for you, mister, I'm a brilliant tactician."

"Also a single one."

Kirk draws up short to spin around. "Spock!" His mock affront dissolves almost instantly into delighted laughter. He admits between laughs, "You're right. I've tried for years to catch McCoy's interest and have nothing to show for it!" He sobers slightly. "But I _know_ this time will be different."

Spock arches an eyebrow.

"Because we're a great team," he answers the unspoken question.

"I am flattered, Jim, but more so curious that you intend to resolve a failed courtship by leveraging a potential rival as a partner."

"Should we fight over him instead?" Jim not-quite-demands.

"I would not recommend it," comes the dry response. "You are familiar with the _kal-if-fee_." 

At Jim's arrested expression, Spock adds, "But consider evolution in your favor. Were my mannerisms more in keeping with those of my territorial ancestors, there would be nothing so coordinated or civilized. I would simply tear off your arms—" here, the Vulcan's gaze flicks lower, "—among other appendages—for coveting my chosen."

Jim wets his bottom lip, eyes wide. "That's a remarkably violent statement for a pacifist."

"I do not always think like a pacifist."

He suppresses a shudder, muttering, "And that's why we're sharing." 

Better not to follow that train of thought either, Kirk chastises himself. He takes a step back, then another, before turning around and heading off again.

However, Spock doesn't appear to think their little chat is concluded, remarking with unusual casualness, "I imagine the reasoning behind your proposition is more complex than the mere desire to share."

Kirk's stride falters just briefly, allowing his Vulcan officer to smoothly catch up to him. 

"What is your secondary motive?"

Jim keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead. "No secondary motive."

"Then, your secondary plan?"

Jim clears his throat to force a tiny bubble of hysteria to subside. "No secondary plan, Spock."

"I see."

A phrase which sounds very much like Spock, in fact, sees and accurately guesses at _too_ much, thinks his captain. 

"Bones," Jim reminds Spock kind of helplessly when they reach the first security zone. "There's no plan without Bones."

Spock inclines his head ever-so-slightly. "Affirmative."

Then, without warning, Spock decides to take the lead of their two-person party, expertly maneuvering them through Security without much of an acknowledgment from the port authority, who seem to recognize a man not to be trifled with. Outside the zone, Spock immediately doubles their pace, plowing straight into the dense foot traffic. The Vulcan doesn't wait to see if Jim is following but Jim does, helpless not to.

Though he had hedged in his answers to Spock, he does have a deeply personal stake in the success of their mission. Because without Spock there is no McCoy and vice versa. For Jim, this bet is all or nothing, and his heart knows it.

~~~

McCoy has that set to his mouth that Jim claims is his Stubborn Southern showing. As if that makes a lick of sense, but then Jim Kirk did also handpick the nickname Bones. Leonard has learned to put up with a great many things for the sake of their friendship.

"I know that restaurant's around here somewhere," he mutters as he turns in a circle, rubbing his fingers across his forehead in contemplation. "Spock and I had lunch there." Since the restaurant staff was friendly enough serving two Starfleet officers, Leonard figures they would also be willing to give directions. 

Ruti simply stares up at him with wide gold-flecked eyes, clearly willing to let him take charge. Not that he blames the poor thing, because he doesn't want to make the decisions either, especially given that his being-in-charge so far has only brought them more confusion.

Luck must be with them, though, for at last he spies the sign belonging to the restaurant. "There it is!" he declares, and they quickly cut across the plaza toward it. "Thank goodness. I was this close to flagging down a patrol officer."

"How embarrassing," Ruti teases.

"You bet!" he laughs. A formal escort back to the ship is exactly what he wants to avoid, or otherwise everyone will certainly know he couldn't find the way back by himself. That would only lend fuel to the fire, meaning that he's already had plenty of Spock and Jim dogging his steps as of late. And the two boneheads refuse to explain why, sliding around his questions like slick politicians under interrogation. 

The smell of spices simmering reaches Leonard's nose. An opaque door slides back as a large group exits the restaurant just as they arrive, forcing Leonard and Ruti to press back against the building wall to avoid becoming entangled in the party. Leonard hurries forward to catch the door after the last man but to his surprise Ruti sails past him, bypassing the main entrance in favor of a smaller door set inconspicuously at the juncture between the restaurant and the upscale hostel beside it. 

"I know someone here!" she calls over to him, seeming excited. She keys a code into the doorlock, and after a few seconds of waiting, darts into the building when the door unlocks.

Leonard has a moment of apprehension, eyeing the distance between the restaurant which he knows and the entranceway, left partially open, which he does not. He steps out of the restaurant's doorway with reluctance and slowly approaches the other door. 

Up to that point, he and Ruti had wandered the complex much like curious tourists, laughing at their own inability to distinguish one direction from another. It wasn't until he had taken note of the late hour from a nearby newsfeed that urgency finally pressed upon him, prompting him to seriously consider asking for assistance. Someone would soon be ordered to search for him, for the final check-in has almost passed and he never requested an overnight stay on the station.

He takes a few steps toward the entranceway, hesitates, and glances at the crowded gangway behind him. No uniforms in those crowds that he can see, no familiar face he can readily identify. 

Ruti's head and shoulders appear around the door. "Oh, but this is a good turn of fortune indeed! The owner has recognized me. I shall contact my cousin. Would you like to wait out here, Leonard, or come inside?"

He hesitates again. "I really need to be gettin' back."

She seems accepting of this answer, sticking her head back inside a moment before reappearing. "There is a map he says you can use—or should we call for a patrol officer?"

"Map," Leonard chooses quickly. 

"A moment," Ruti says. "I will fetch it." 

He shuffles closer to the building. When more time passes than should be necessary for Ruti to return, he finally steps up to the door, peeking inside. An arm whips out of the dark hall and snags the front of his tunic, jerking him over the threshold. In that moment, as McCoy cries out in alarm, he is struck by two things: the force of the sudden assault and his own stupidity in failing to recognize an obvious trap. 

But then there's no more time for thinking with a huge alien looming over him who rumbles the warning, "Do not try to run," as it snicks its claws together with menace. From the back of the hallway, Ruti looks on, her expression suitably grim.

"What the hell are you doing!" Leonard snaps, his efforts to twist free making his captor let go of his uniform and grab his throat instead. He gasps as the alien effortlessly lifts him up until the toes of his boots barely brush the ground.

"Requesting your help," Ruti replies. "Chee, bring him."

Somehow, McCoy very much doubts Ruti and her brutish companion understand the concept of a request. He's dragged the rest of the way inside, too preoccupied with the grip crushing his airway to fight back. The door to the outside slams shut with a resounding echo.

 _Oh hell_ , Leonard thinks, part in consternation, part in fear, _I should have stuck with the nosy Vulcan._


	2. Part Two

The alien called Chee shoves Leonard nearly headfirst into a teetering junk pile inside a cramped storage room, then wrenches him back again when the heap collapses at their feet. 

Being jerked around doesn't suit Leonard at all, and so he levels a glare at his captor. "I'm a doctor, not a rag doll! Where are we going? Make up your damned mind!"

Ruti breezes past McCoy's shoulder. "You lack common sense to speak so rudely to someone twice your size."

"And _you_ wouldn't know anything about rudeness," Leonard retorts hotly. 

She pauses to turn around and peruse him. "Your anger... Pretense to cover fear? Yes, you feel vulnerable."

Leonard tries to shake off Chee's grip but fails. "I _am_ angry! Anybody would be at being manhandled like a sack of potatoes and then threatened for good measure!"

"There is no time for politeness."

"Horseshit." McCoy's eyebrows knit together. "You don't have to do this, and you know it."

Ruti steps toward him, then. "But I do, Doctor." 

She signals to Chee, who drags Leonard around another leaning junk tower to the darkest corner of the room. There, a form takes shape out of the dark, lying prone across several crates pushed together as a makeshift cot. The humanoid has his face turned to the wall. Even if Leonard's eyesight had not already adjusted to the darkness well enough to make out the scrapes and bruises, the torn clothing, and bloody knuckles, he would have instinctively known the man is injured. 

When he shakes Chee off a second time, he is released. Kneeling beside the cot, he gently turns the slack face toward him. No protest, no reaction—not from McCoy's captors or the injured being. 

"How long has he been like this?"

"She," corrects Ruti softly, "has been unresponsive for nearly two solar days."

"A fight?" he questions, inspecting the surface wounds he can see. "What kind of weapons?"

"I cannot answer that."

Leonard jerks his head up, fixing a look of disapproval upon her. "Think twice before you choose to be unforthcoming. What I don't know could be more damning to my treating her injuries than you could believe possible."

"Then you intend to heal her?"

Leonard's gaze flicks over to the giant Chee. "I doubt I have a choice, but I'll try my best." Yes, he would help even if they suddenly decided to dump him into the plaza again. He has never willingly turned his back on the wounded.

Ruti says, "The medkit, Chee, and hurry." When the hulking beast disappears, her attention returns to Leonard. "You appear intelligent enough to know what will happen if you try to trick us and escape." Her gaze is considering despite the harsh words. "But while you treat her, you will come to no harm. And if you can save her life, I promise you this: you will be set free."

He chooses not to contend with her over future events, more concerned with the problem lying unconscious in front of him. "I need more light in this room to work. And extra sheets. Fold them if you can. Makes it easier to change them later so we don't disturb her wounds." He pauses after that brusque set of instructions to frown at Ruti. "Well? I know you're not deaf."

"You _are_ a doctor," she confirms, almost wonderingly.

McCoy snorts. "This insignia isn't a merit badge." His snort changes to a huff. "Besides, now you're an honorary nurse. Him too," he adds, jerking his chin at the return of Chee, who stomps up to him and shoves a battered-looking medkit under his nose with a grunt.

Ruti moves to Chee's side and says something to him in an undertone using a language Leonard doesn't know or can easily replicate. Chee growls, "We have none in this place, but I shall find some," and trudges away again.

Leonard simply shakes his head. Ruti kneels near him, taking hold of his patient's hand. The act speaks of an intimacy he deliberately pretends to be obtuse to and settles on inspecting the medkit's contents. Removing a bottle, he says, "Here," and places it next to Ruti. "This sterilizes the skin. Use some on your hands first, and then clean her cuts carefully." 

Next, retrieving a small handheld scanner of a model dated back at least a decade but thankfully still functional, he adjusts the device to a broad spectrum. A soft whirring sound fills the space as it begins to pick up readings.

Ruti says, "We haven't much time."

"She definitely doesn't have time," he agrees, dismayed at the growing list of results in the scanner's feed. "There's been internal hemorrhaging. You're lucky she isn't dead."

"I speak of my cousin's ship."

He glances up. "What you said wasn't a complete lie, then?"

She cannot miss the sarcasm in his words but she seems to ignore it. Her stare, fixed on the patient's face, is troubled. "When he arrives, she _will_ die—by his hand."

That sounds like a family problem McCoy doesn't want to get mixed up in. "What you mean is, y'all have to be gone by then."

"Regardless of her injuries." Ruti looks away briefly. When she turns to Leonard, she repeats, "If you save her, you will be set free."

Somehow, Leonard doesn't find that reassurance at all comforting. But he says nonetheless, "Then help me."

Surprisingly, Ruti does.

~~~

Jim is rattled, and Spock cannot regret being the cause of that.

When Kirk first approached him with a concise (clearly rehearsed) explanation of why they should create a partnership to better determine how to win Leonard McCoy's affections, Spock was well aware the motivation behind such a unique proposal was not simple in nature. An acquaintance might assume lust had overridden forethought and discretion, given that Kirk has never been shy concerning the pleasures of the flesh. But a friend who knows the man would also know Jim is too smart to sate a trifling desire at the cost of a friendship, not McCoy's, not Spock's.

No, to warrant _these_ actions—the caution, the deep consideration, and the detailed planning—the man's true purpose is evident, even to one still learning to interpret human behavior such as Spock: Jim Kirk is in love.

Therefore, how could Spock not read between the lines of their agreed-upon arrangement? He knows of love, its peculiarities, and purely illogical facets. Often those bound by love think nothing of taking profound risks, as Jim wishes to do—as Spock himself is doing. This 'mission' (as Kirk so fondly refers to their mutual objective) is not about asking a friend to assist in swaying McCoy's heart. Jim is asking Spock to allow him to love McCoy, to simultaneously share in Spock's love for McCoy and, finally, to love Spock the same way.

No aspect of which would be a great hardship. The plan is reasonable, equitably balanced, and deeply satisfying.

But of course humans appear to have difficulty acknowledging what they truly desire, presenting instead some thinned-down, socially acceptable version of their needs to any party whose judgment carries weight. Yet Spock cannot imagine why Jim feels he is unable to accept the truth, but an odd instinct has prevented Spock from pressing for a reason too deeply, at least for the moment. In actuality, there _is_ someone who can cut past Kirk's pretenses without reserve or regret. That man stands at the core of Jim and Spock's union.

And is also missing. Unfortunately.

"There," Jim declares, pointing ahead. "He has to be over there!"

Spock's dark eyes locate the sign that despite the distance is easy enough to read, being brightly lit in garish red and flashing with regularity to project the claim, _Free Booze_. 

He arches one eyebrow. "Captain, you do realize Dr. McCoy is not an alcoholic. He rarely imbibes outside of social encounters."

"You didn't meet him _before_ he got over his divorce."

Spock acknowledges the prick of a moment's annoyance. "Jim."

Jim huffs, an amused sound. "At ease, Spock. I'm not attempting to malign Bones' good character." He glances away, then back again, before proceeding to pick a circuitous path toward the lounge beneath the sign. "Bones makes a hobby of trying off-brand liquors. We should try looking at places that are highly regarded for their wide selections."

That suggestion makes more sense. Spock detaches the small personal data padd from his uniform that he had been using to record his observations of McCoy earlier that day. A quick search yields interesting results. 

"That establishment appears to be in _low_ regard. One patron has commented that the free offerings 'taste of horse-piss'." His other eyebrow climbs upward to join its twin. "Apparently the topless dancers negate this travesty."

Jim immediately switches their direction. "So, striking _that_ from the list. Your turn. Where else can we look?"

Spock taps the screen for a few seconds. "There are places which fit your suggestion, but most do not open for another three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-one point one seconds. One of them has been closed down by the local authorities after a raid of their illegal gambling ring, and the only remaining choice is known to be run by a high-ranking member of the Rigellan mob. Fascinating."

Kirk comes to a standstill, raking fingers through his hair. Then he and Spock have to react quickly to sidestep a large alien shoving unmindfully through the throng of tourists and shoppers, whereupon Kirk's gaze sharpens with annoyance and trails after the offender until he has vanished from their sight. 

Oddly, however, when Jim's attention returns to Spock, the look in his eyes inexplicably bleak. "If Bones isn't secluded in a bar somewhere, then... I don't know. Spock, my mind goes nowhere else." Kirk sighs through his nose. "Sad, isn't it? That his best friend can't figure him out."

Perhaps this is a hint as to why Jim seems reluctant to express the totality of his feelings. He isn't certain he is a fit for McCoy—or Spock?

Spock is confident in saying, "I do not believe this scenario is evidence to support that conjecture. Nor do I support that statement in general, which is hardly logical given the fact Dr. McCoy himself has said you know him best."

"You always know the right thing to say, Spock," Jim replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Spock does not think so, but he recognizes the remark for what it is, a tacit request for advice. And so he gives exactly that, as their next step seems plainly obvious. "By no means is our goal impossible, Jim, as naturally..." The Vulcan breaks off to look around, spies what he is searching for, and without preamble heads toward it. "The best solution is the simplest one." 

Soon, he arrives abreast of a short, rotund Terran in conversation with a civilian gesticulating effusively at a storefront and politely calls, "Excuse me, Officer."

When Jim finally catches up to Spock, his reaction surprises Spock: an unexpected leap between Spock and his quarry in the same moment the patrolman turns to Spock. The human has a small edible lifted halfway to his mouth, no doubt taken from the small plastic sack sticking out of the top of his pants pocket.

"We have lost our companion," Spock says, only to have his explanation loudly overridden by Jim interjecting, " _Sorry_ to bother you, Officer! As you were!" while snapping up a handful of Spock's tunic to yank Spock aside.

The officer looks at them in confusion. 

As Jim is pivoting Spock away, Spock successfully disengages the grip on his clothing with a defense maneuver Kirk had once used during a sparring session and completes the full turn to once again face the patrol officer. "Sir," he repeats, "we have lost our companion and wish to request a search party of—"

" _Mister_ Spock."

Spock closes his mouth at his captain's snapping tone and twists at the waist to find Jim with an expression torn between anger and disbelief and the color deepening in his face. 

Then, with a _plunk_ , the edible falls from their audience's suddenly trembling fingers to the sidewalk. The officer is gaping, but it isn't Spock he is staring at. 

" _Captain_ Kirk?" the man gasps.

Another sharper voice remarks, "What did you say? Kirk?" The civilian leans into sight from around the gawking officer, the hallmarks of irritation replaced by excitement. " _By Whixspittle's Purse_ , it is him!"

The patrolman lurches forward and grabs both of Jim's hands. "It's an honor, sir! A real honor!"

Others nearby have taken note of the scene; some curious bystanders begin to drift closer for a better look.

With a tight smile, Jim surreptitiously works to free his hands. "Yes, hello there." 

Spock asserts, "We need your assistance," somewhat bemused by the unexpected turn in the conversation.

The officer looks to him, then, as if finally aware he exists, before slowly turning back to Kirk and snapping to attention. "Captain, I am at your service!" he bellows, and Spock experiences momentary regret as the sound nearly deafens him. 

"What can I do to assist you?" the officer then begs.

Spock decidedly does not approve of the human's smitten tone and points out, "You could release his hands."

The fellow glances down, gasps then flushes and finally lets his silent captive go with an embarrassed declaration of "My deepest apologies!"

Kirk lowers his arms to his sides. "It's all right, no harm done." The fleeting glance he gives Spock is filled with resignation, though his tone remains deceptively measured. "Forgive us for our intrusion."

The civilian slides all the way out from behind the officer, grinning broadly. "A visit from the poster boy of Starfleet. Why this almost makes a terrible day good again!" He produces a data padd out of nowhere. "Can I have your autograph, Captain?"

The patrolman flushes a second time and bats the civilian aside. "Don't pester the Captain, Murtee! Go back to your shop."

"Autographs are a lucrative business," retorts Murtee the shop owner. "And I've already been ousted from a decent profit today by that little flitflat thief who stole two of my bestsellers. _You_ stop pestering him, and find _her_!"

The officer rounds on the shop owner then. "Every day you say someone steals from you when what's really going on is you sold those 'missing' wares out your back door. Then you come to _me_ so you can claim a loss and a tax break!"

Murtee's eyes bug out, his four antennae wobbling with outrage. "A-Are you calling me a cheat, Huido? I'm NOT LYING! I told you, some cutsie little flitflat—!"

Jim catches Spock's arm and draws him quietly backward. This time Spock goes with him, as it is readily apparent dealing with these... fans... will be more of a distraction than a boon in finding the errant McCoy.

"You're a cheat _and_ a bad friend!" Officer Huido flings his arms wide, yelling now. "I don't have time for this! I have a decorated starship captain who needs my—"

"You noodle-brained ungrateful sack of Human!' snarls his friend at full volume. "YOU DON'T DESERVE MY PRECIOUS NOUGATS!" 

With an alarmingly high-pitched shriek, the shopkeeper snatches at the sack of edibles from his friend's pocket. In retaliation, Huido delivers a nasty kick to Murtee's shin, then clings for dear life to his end of the sack. Thus abused, the sack tears open during the resulting tug-of-war, and nougat pieces go flying everywhere. 

"Hurry!" Jim whispers with urgency now, and Spock sees why. Beyond the gathering onlookers, more port officers are tumbling out of a hovercraft in their haste to reach the fighting pair, who have gone from shoving each other to flinging things alongside their colorful curses—nougats, foliage, unrecycled trash.

Kirk and Spock divest themselves of the situation quickly, diving past parties of people until they are able to whip around a corner into a narrow passageway between two buildings. There Jim stops, planting a hand against a wall, breathing in gulps of air. Spock shifts to block the view of him, should anyone be curious enough to stop and stare.

"Jim?" he questions.

Kirk straightens up, his breathing calmed but a tinge of lingering hoarseness in his voice from breathing hard. "Okay, let's not do that again."

"How did you know...?" Spock pauses, uncertain of how to phrase his question without giving offense, but it appears he doesn't need to.

Jim finishes, "How did I know making a simple request would cause ridiculous fanfare?" The man sighs. "I've already turned down several invitations for a meet-and-greet with the Chief of Port and his eager staff. Word would have spread by now."

Spock stills. "You did not mention this."

Kirk's fist falls away from the wall, his tone softening. "We're Starfleet, Spock. Our reputations will always proceed us, even off-duty. Well, so much for a simple pitstop-turned-vacation."

Spock doubts his own reputation is of much consequence, considering that the patrol officer failed to notice him, but it is logical that Jim, whose name has already become famous (and in some places notorious) across the galactic quadrants, would have a different experience. 

"I regret that I did not consider the possibility," he says.

Jim steps forward, giving the Vulcan's shoulder a brief squeeze. "I prefer you don't think that way. I want to be an ordinary guy to you."

 _Impossible_ , determines Spock. There is nothing ordinary in who Jim is to Spock, from his captain to his friend to potentially more. But he keeps that thought private for now.

"C'mon," Kirk says, stepping around Spock to the mouth of the alley, "let's find Bones before something truly bad happens."

"Such as?"

"Someone plastering my face across the news dockets," Jim murmurs, who then does a full body shake like a canine shedding water, as though that remark is an unwelcome omen.

"If we cannot use public resources to identify Dr. McCoy's whereabouts," Spock muses as they try to blend inconspicuously back into the foot traffic, "perhaps we can use our own." He pulls out his padd. "I will modify this device's locator app to function similarly to that of a tricorder."

"You'd have to know the code makeup of Bones' bio-signature."

"I do."

Jim looks at him askance. "Are you serious?"

"I do not joke, Jim."

After a moment, his captain blinks. "Mine too?"

"Affirmative."

Kirk chokes, then, but says nothing else. 

Spock breaks from the crowd to settle on a bench. Jim doesn't sit down too, instead flanking the bench with arms crossed, no doubt appointing himself watch-guard while Spock is occupied.

The program code and adjoining mathematics come with familiar ease, giving Spock time to consider other aspects of this current predicament and his work at the same time. Jim is correct, of course, usually is when his intuition comes to play: he and Spock are at their best when partnered, and Spock has no doubts that their mission will end successfully, however many layers and nuances that mission takes. Some might think it arrogant of Spock to assume that failure is impossible, but in this matter, he makes use of intuition of his own. 

The doctor is fascinated with him, though McCoy must think Spock too obtuse to pick up the hints. The captain is clearly offering his heart to him, though Jim also thinks Spock too obtuse to recognize this. Easy enough to forgive both for that obtuseness, but also easy enough to use it to his advantage. 

But first, the key component has to be retrieved—and where Leonard McCoy has gotten to, this modified little program will reveal to them soon.


	3. Part Three

McCoy sits back, noting the ominous creak of the chair that had been unearthed from one of the junk piles for him to use and feeling lucky that it held his weight through the last procedure. His gaze slides over his patient a final time, confirming she's still breathing, before settling on the flickering light from an old standing lamp nearby. 

"If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours, the prognosis isn't too bad," he says quietly. The tiredness in his own voice stirs him some, prompts him to massage a cramped back muscle, the result of being stuck in a hunched position for too long. "Her recovery needs to be monitored." 

Across from him, Ruti says nothing.

Leonard surmises, "So that's a _no_ to relocating to a medical facility. I can see how much she matters to you. Is remaining hidden really worth risking her life?"

"I told you, Doctor, that her life will be over should my cousin find us. And he _will_ check the local wards."

"Then he knows she is injured," Leonard replies sharply. "Because he's the one who hurt her?" 

"The less you know, the better."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

"He will kill you too and think nothing of it."

"Sounds like a real gem," mutters the doctor. "Believe me, I fully understand there's danger here but, lady," he says, his irritation on the rise again, "you seem to have forgotten that you've already dragged me into it." 

"Master will kill her," a gruff voice comes from behind McCoy.

"Chee, silence!" Ruti barks, snapping to her feet.

Leonard twists around to stare at Chee. "Did you say _Master_?"

Chee grunts, which seems to be his way of agreeing. "Master's wife," he says, pointing to McCoy's patient, "has betrayed him. We left with her, therefore we will die too."

" _Be silent._ "

It isn't the frightening undertone to Ruti's command that has Leonard coming out of his chair. No, it's Chee's instant reaction. In concern, Leonard rushes to the fellow, who has grabbed his head and doubled over. Just when he's within an arm's reach, Chee straightens up, breathing hard, fighting a visible tremor in his limbs. The hardness to Chee's gaze draws Leonard up short like being doused with a bucket of ice water. 

No, he shouldn't try to touch this person, this captor. Both of them, he reminds himself, are strangers to him and very, very unpredictable.

He asks Chee despite these reservations, "Are you okay?"

Chee grunts, pivots around and marches from the room.

Leonard stares after him awhile before turning to Ruti. Her blank expression gives nothing away, which doesn't surprise him. He has to wonder, though, how Chee can look at Ruti with such hatred and yet follow her orders. Chee doesn't even retaliate when punished for not obeying.

Then McCoy's gaze drops to the unconscious woman breathing shallowly, miraculously alive despite the severity of her internal injuries, and knows the answer. Ruti and Chee don't like each other but they tolerate their current situation for _her_ sake. 

_Who are you?_ he wants to ask. He doubts she is merely a runaway wife with a supposedly ruthless, homicidal husband.

"You say she needs to be monitored," Ruti interrupts his thoughts.

He starts to nod, only to realize why she brought that fact up. "You said you would let me go."

Ruti moves around the makeshift sickbed. "My Lady is not yet saved."

He closes his eyes, wishing for privacy to mourn the dashed hope of escaping unscathed, knowing he will continue to have his every move closely watched. _Doesn't matter_ , he decides, opening his eyes to find Ruti standing uncomfortably close, staring directly into his face. 

His patient needs a medical professional to look after her, and there's no one better to do so than the doctor who already started her treatment. "Damn it," he says, "you've got me."

"I know," his captor replies solemnly. "You choose well on your own."

Oh, he doesn't like the sound of that. "What happened to Chee just now, you caused that."

"Yes."

"Are you planning to inflict some torture on me too?"

"I do not wish to." Ruti draws back, then.

He hears the rest left hanging between them, unspoken: _But I will hurt you if necessary._

"So what do we do now?" he asks.

She looks past him, seeming to measure the troubles which lay in store for them behind that little room. "We find a way to leave."

His stomach tightens uncomfortably. "Leave the port? Do you have a ship?"

"I have a means to a ship."

The way Ruti stares at him makes him feel sick. He backs up. "You're crazy if you think I'll let you take the Enter—"

"Not _your_ ship," she cuts in, seeming annoyed. "What would I want with a Federation starship?"

Relief makes Leonard momentarily dizzy. He drops a hand to the top rung of the chair—and one of the chair legs finally snaps in half and the whole thing tilts. Startled, he stumbles sideways with it until a large hand grabs his shoulder and shoves him upright again. 

Chee has returned.

"Thanks," Leonard says, then frowns when Chee doesn't let him go. 

"The container is here," Chee tells Ruti. 

"You paid them extra?"

"Yes. But they will not ask questions no matter the amount of payment." Chee bares his teeth. "I told them I would split open their heads if they did."

Leonard looks between the two, his paranoia kicking into full gear. "Wait a minute. We're leaving _now_?"

Ruti inclines her head. 

His temper sparks. "I only just finished patching her insides back together! That woman needs to _rest_!"

Ruti seems amused by his hollering, as if he is a child throwing a petty tantrum. 

"You two are out of your goddamn minds," he snarls.

"You have two options before you, Dr. McCoy. The container can hold two people, but you will undoubtedly find the enclosed space not to your liking."

"And the second option?"

"Chee and I will escort you through the station." She steps around him, following that with a warning. "The second option is the more dangerous of the two because it will tempt you to act foolishly. If you are foolish, Doctor, you are dead."

Yeah, no. No way in hell will he willingly climb into a box. It would be as good as climbing into his coffin. "I choose the danger," he says.

Chee lets go of him, and Ruti indicates Leonard should follow her. He looks back into the room only once, to a disconcerting sight: Chee, despite his roughness and meat-headed manners, very carefully collecting the mysterious Lady into his arms as though she is the most precious object in the galaxy.

But then again, Leonard supposes she must be special. There's no telling the kind of crimes Ruti and Chee have committed so far on her behalf. Kidnapping is likely the least damning of them.

"With me, Dr. McCoy," Ruti calls, and for a nanosecond, Leonard could swear her voice is in his head as well as his ears.

He obeys.

~~~

Spock's homemade scanner works eerily similar to any standard-issue tricorder. Jim commends him on that as they embark on their manhunt. Spock, per usual, is diligent and untiring in his inspection of their surroundings; the problem, however, lies with Jim. At times, he finds himself distracted by a growing complaint, one which he doesn't want to share with Spock quite yet. It's a nagging, an itch at the back of his neck he calls a 'red alert'.

As the signal pinpointing McCoy's whereabouts becomes increasingly more exact, so does Jim's feeling that trouble lies ahead. During their second year at Starfleet Academy, Jim had told Bones about this sensation he sometimes experiences, and Bones had snorted and said it sounded like an arthritis flare-up. "But you're not an old man yet, Jim, so I guess we'll call it intuition," his friend joked. 

Yet Kirk's nose for danger has proven itself over the course of his captaincy, preventing some major disasters. After only a handful of instances of seeing Kirk's intuition in action, McCoy started taking his remarks seriously. 

But red alert or otherwise, it seems like a silly thing to tell a Vulcan, especially one who is prone to requiring proof to substantiate a claim intangible in nature. 

Jim would say to Spock, "My gut tells me we're headed into trouble." 

Spock would likely reply, "Guts do not speak or experience feelings, Jim. When was your last physical?"

So that's that.

Kirk breathes steadily through his nose as he cuts a corner ahead of Spock, who is busy scanning the shopping district's crowded plaza, which to Jim seems more like an uncoordinated, open bazaar. His red alert has turned from an annoying itch to an unrelenting sting. He doesn't question the impulse to draw Spock to one side of the bazaar under a modicum of shelter.

A simple pitstop, Jim tells himself. That's all this is. "Spock, I don't see McCoy yet."

"He must be here." Spock slides a finger across his padd, then lifts his head like a dog catching a scent to look in a specific direction. "Calculations show—"

Kirk snaps to attention at a flash of color, the shade of blue very familiar. He grabs Spock's shoulder without thinking. "There!" An instant later, his joy turns to unease. "Hold on. Bones isn't alone."

Spock lowers the padd to his side. "It would seem so."

For a moment, Jim can only see the daintiness of McCoy's companion, the delicate way she lifts a hand to halt McCoy and another companion at the juncture of two market stalls. 

_Too late_ , he thinks, upset. They have found Bones too late, and now the best friend he's been secretly in love with for years has found someone more interesting.

"Jim."

Jim drags in a breath, plastering a tiny smile on his face as he faces Spock. "Looks like Bones made some friends." He doesn't like the way Spock is watching him, as though Spock knows the sour turn of his inner thoughts.

But he hasn't failed. _They_ haven't, Jim reminds himself firmly. Failure isn't to be contemplated until Leonard McCoy tells one or both of them to take a hike and keep any romantic aspirations to themselves.

His smile widens slightly with a hint of mischief. "Why don't we go over and introduce ourselves?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "As fellow officers or romantic rivals?"

Jim grins. "That's what I like about you, Spock. You're so subtle."

"Jim, do you understand the meaning of—"

He barks out a laugh. "What I said and what I meant aren't—you know what, Spock? Never mind." Jim fixes his attention on the man across the plaza. He starts forward, skirting around people in his path to McCoy, Spock at his heels. "I'll explain it to you later, or Bones will." 

As if hearing his name, McCoy faces away from his companions, his gaze skimming a shaded area past the market. Even from a distance, the set to McCoy's mouth is recognizable—and is what makes Jim's pace falter, then halt him altogether. 

Spock stops too, looking first to Kirk then to McCoy. "Jim?"

Suddenly that red alert makes too much sense. "Spock, something's wrong. Bones doesn't look like that unless—" Jim bites off the rest of his explanation, swallowing it uncomfortably. "Something's wrong," he repeats adamantly, spurred now by his own startling observation to step in McCoy's direction once more.

This time, it's Spock who stops Kirk where he stands, taking a light hold of his arm. "A moment," murmurs the Vulcan, still staring ahead of them.

Jim wants to snap that if Bones is in trouble, they might not have a moment, but something in Spock's dark eyes arrests him, rallies the trust which naturally accompanies being with Spock or McCoy. How it's become ingrained in him to place everything he is behind those two sometimes baffles him; but he does so without hesitation, without thought, simply because they ask it of him.

This time is no different. Jim stills under Spock's hand, waiting.

Words begin to issue from Spock in monotone, an explanation or ritual or simply the Vulcanian way of marking an event of importance. Jim doesn't know which, but what he hears causes him to pay close attention.

"The awareness is always guarded. To draw back that veil is to invite in the chaos of the untrained, or those with little power. Every surface thought, every whim, becomes pitifully transparent." Spock draws in a sudden breath, an act so uncharacteristic that Jim tenses. 

Spock's voice becomes strained. "Jim, there is so much information. Too much. It blinds!"

Kirk's heart begins to pound. When he shifts on his feet, Spock's grip turns suddenly painful.

"Stay," the Vulcan demands. "You must—my anchor—to resist."

Jim isn't certain he understands what Spock needs of him but he grows still again. "Be careful," he whispers, chilled by the prospect of Spock being crushed by the deluge of minds within the plaza.

Spock gives no indication of hearing him, echoing whatever internal process he is working through. "Where, where? Too many. Where is—" His grip on Jim relaxes. " _There_ he is. Obvious. Sunlit. A beautiful compassion. But I sense... unhappiness. Agitation. Fear." 

In that moment Jim appreciates more than ever how well-trained Spock is as a telepath and how strong he must be to make use of his ability in any capacity beyond physical touch. He swallows hard. "Why is Bones afraid?"

Spock turns quiet, as if teasing out an answer from tangles of information. "The fear is not for himself."

Of course not, thinks Jim, though he is relieved. "Then there is an injury or a threat to someone under his care."

"Indubitably." Spock starts to sound more like himself. "However his current predicament came to be, his sense of duty ties him to it."

"It's up to us to untie him then," Jim states firmly. "I won't have my chief medical officer in danger." It seems crazy but Jim could swear Spock squeezes his arm ever-so-briefly in agreement. "Spock, what about the other two?"

"I sense more agitation and fear from the male. Deep anger. Thoughts of violence." The Vulcan stiffens, then.

Jim presses into his first officer's silence, "What is it?" 

"Most unusual," Spock finally intones. "There is an emptiness in the mayhem. A void where there should be a mind. The female next to Dr. McCoy is mind-shielded."

"Another telepath." That thought gives him a solid explanation for his uneasiness. He decides, "Enough, Spock. Pull back."

"I could—"

"No, you're lucky not to have attracted her attention by now. Stop. That's an order."

Spock blinks and after a moment releases Jim's arm. He turns to Jim with his usual composure, expectant.

Jim checks, "Are you all right?"

"Of course."

He eyes the Vulcan speculatively but doesn't press further, instead choosing to indicate the humanoids across the plaza with a measure of grimness. "Thanks to you, we have the information we need. Enough to know those two are _not_ McCoy's friends. We intervene now, or follow them." He looks to Spock.

"The violence simmering in the male needs only an excuse to be unleashed."

"And by confronting them, Bones could be caught in the crossfire even if his companions have no ill intentions toward him." Jim's gaze finds McCoy again, judging the doctor's profile. "I'm loathed to jump in blind."

"Is that so?"

Jim cuts a narrowed gaze to Spock. "What are you insinuating?"

"I merely made a remark, Jim." 

Jim's gaze narrows further, but when Spock simply stares back, he ends up being the one to back down. Huffing and rolling his shoulders to loosen tight muscles, Kirk dismisses that lost battle (it's a moot point since he rarely wins any argument with Spock anyway) and continues his musing aloud. "Why hasn't Bones called someone for help? Where are they going? And what will happen to Bones when that destination is reached?"

"Obviously the answer is to follow them."

"Yes, it is," Jim says softly, "but not without backup. Contact the ship, Spock. I want a team of our Security on the ground."

As Spock flips his communicator open, he says, "You do not wish to involve the port authorities. You do not trust them?"

"I trust my crew more." Jim jerks his chin in the direction of an archway between two shops not directly in the line of sight of McCoy or the pair with him. "Let's go."

Spock calls the Enterprise while they retrace their steps, taking an inconspicuous route around the perimeter of the plaza to the vantage point of Kirk's choice.


	4. Part Four

Leonard steps from the path of a vendor's cart whose owner seems more interested in running down shoppers rather than letting them peruse any wares, finally noticing that Ruti and Chee are several paces behind him. Neither one appears concerned about losing their charge in the crowd, however, or that said charge could use the opportunity to bolt. 

He spins back to the pair. "Are you planning to loiter there all day, or can we get going?"

Chee eyes the human while scratching himself. "Food."

McCoy's eyes nearly bug out of his head. Surely he could not have heard correctly. They want to take the time to _eat?_

Ruti looks away from something in the nearest alleyway which had caught her attention to purse her mouth at Chee. "There will be food on the ship."

Chee grunts. "Spacer food tastes bad."

"God yes!" agrees Leonard emphatically without thinking, suddenly reminded of every bearly palatable replicated meal he has had to choke down over the last several years. Having time earlier to visit that cafe with Spock had felt like a godsend, if only because the fare there had been cooked in a pot instead by a mathematical formula. 

He starts, then, realizing he cannot possibly be contemplating sitting down to dinner with a pair of kidnappers. What in hell is wrong with him?

Then again, any delay in being potentially forced onto a ship which isn't the Enterprise would be worth it. Leonard still hasn't figured out how he will convince Ruti to leave the space station without him. And while he doesn't like the idea of his patient being without medical aid, he also doesn't want to cause an intergalactic incident because his common sense went on vacation at the same time he did. He would be overly lucky if no one on the Enterprise has realized he is missing (and a hostage).

Not for the first time, he wonders how he will explain this predicament. It will certainly have to end in the admission that he walked into a trap Jim would have sniffed out in the first ten seconds of meeting Ruti and also made decisions along the way that Spock would have calculated as too risky from the start.

He isn't Jim or Spock, that much is apparent. Generally, that isn't a depressing thought but today it makes him feel like less. And the lecture he's going to receive for his idiocy can only serve to strengthen his disappointment in himself. 

He shakes himself of any moroseness, deciding, "I'm with your friend here. We could grab a bite. You said your 'cargo' won't arrive at this mysterious ship ahead of us, so what's the rush?"

Ruti counters, "Consider not the rush, Dr. McCoy, but the danger. If my cousin—"

Chee slams one fist into the palm of his other hand. "I will rend his limbs from his body if I see him!"

Ruti's mouth flattens, yet she seems amused. "Chee's hunger often fuels his imprudence. Very well. A bite, as you say, Doctor, though we must be quick about it."

Leonard turns away, surveying the plaza for somewhere—anywhere—that might grant him an advantage. He doubts Ruti will allow them to dine in plain sight, but maybe he could covertly find a way to alert the authorities, something smarter than jumping onto a tabletop to scream bloody murder, only to be killed for the effort.

Just then, an odd thing happens, a sensation eerily like a touch. It rolls through Leonard, an invisible fingertip starting at the top of his spine and tracing its way down, lasting merely a heartbeat or two. He shudders upon exhaling, afterward strangely relaxed as though someone had calmed the instinct to be afraid through that simple caress. He also feels confused but is alert enough not to turn around. No one could be standing directly behind him, after all, and no one had physically touched him.

What just happened? Is he losing his mind?

And why does part of him want to feel that comforting caress again?

Chee shoulders Leonard aside, dispelling the vestiges of the sensation along with McCoy's mental fog, pointing at a sign that reads "Voted Supermarket of the Year. If You Want It, It's Here!" The interior of the market looks like a giant peddler's wagon. 

Chee doesn't wait for a reaction, towing Leonard by the elbow to the entrance. With no choice except to go along, albeit sputtering, Leonard is shocked when Ruti catches up to them and doesn't whack her companion upside the head. 

Instead, the woman snorts delicately. "Let us hope it is sanitary," she says before following Chee inside.

"Wait a minute!" Leonard protests, more unnerved by the suspicious stares of customers and sellers alike than the failing health grade posted next to the doorway. "Is this a good—" He bites off the last word with a yelp, being dumped in front of a food bar inlaid with containers where a customer might help himself to whichever delight he desires.

A purple slug inches over the top of one container and inspects Leonard's hand with one of its antennae. Chee plucks it up and drops it into his mouth with a satisfied smack.

"Hey, you!" yells a nearby seller. "Pay before you eat!"

Ruti hands Chee a plate to fill. Leonard politely declines one.

She tilts her head, curious. "I thought you wished to be fed."

 _Not if I have to kill my dinner first._ "Not as hungry as I thought," he mutters, stepping back from the food bar. "Go ahead. I'll just... wait over there." He points to an empty table barely more than five strides away.

Ruti studies him a moment longer, shrugs one shoulder and turns away to make her selections. But as he takes another step back, she warns him, "Don't bother running away. You will not get far."

He believes her, retreating to the table in silence.

It isn't until Leonard is idly surveying the other stalls of the supermarket that he realizes pushing for this reprieve to eat is both a boon and a mistake. The boon is the familiar flash of gold he spies out of the corner of his eye. The mistake is that ready-for-trouble gleam in Jim Kirk's bright gaze, which Leonard easily recognizes when he twists sideways to see if the gold shirt peeking out from behind a pillar could actually be a Starfleet uniform. 

Stomach dropping, Leonard observes the partially visible crown of black hair to Kirk's left. 

Oh god, he thinks with certainty, Jim and Spock have found him and they _know_.

The sound of utensils dropping to the table startles Leonard into nearly overturning his stool. Chee narrows his gaze at Leonard while the doctor rights himself. Then Chee thumps into the seat across from him and ignores everything except the squirming mound on his plate. A slight breeze at McCoy's back is Ruti circling around him to sit down on his right. 

His heart jumps in his throat when she remarks too casually, "Has something caught your interest, Dr. McCoy?"

"No," he lies. Pointing at Chee's heaping plate, he emphasizes, "Especially not that."

Ruti studies Chee's enthusiasm for his food and then McCoy's pallor. "Very well," she says, "we will not linger longer than necessary."

She makes no other comment afterward and seems intent on her own meal for the time being. That alone, odd as it may seem, makes him break into a sweat.

Now that he is aware of Jim and Spock's presence, he suddenly wishes he hadn't thought of escape at all. Whether Leonard and his captors linger or not, those two are certain to follow.

~~~

There should be no time for doubts once fully into Operation: Rescue My Doctor. Or so Kirk chastises himself.

But what could possibly push McCoy to sit down to a meal with two very obviously unfriendly wayfarers? The man isn't _that_ social—or crazy.

"Maybe he's under a spell," Jim murmurs, spurring the companion at his elbow to glance sharply in his direction. "Or has lost his memory. It's happened before," he points out when Spock's unamused stare remains unchanged.

"Captain, developing a supposition without facts is futile."

Jim grunts and goes back to studying the nervous tick to Leonard McCoy's jaw. "He knows we're here."

Spock's voice lowers slightly. "You may be correct."

Jim flicks a surprised glance Spock's way. "What happened to 'I loathe baseless guessing'?"

"I never said that, Jim."

"That's what you meant."

"This turn of conversation is irrelevant."

Jim is momentarily tempted to keep arguing, but then if he truly pisses off his second-in-command (or vice versa) there will be no one to prod them toward reluctant apologies and the relief of reconciliation. The person with that self-imposed responsibility is across the room in some kind of trouble.

And Jim is determined to extricate Bones from it as quickly as possible.

"Recommendation, Mr. Spock," he prompts, falling back upon the simplicity and structure of command to maintain the peace between them.

Spock shifts his attention to the scene before them. "Given the heavy traffic through this facility, our opponents could make use of a number of distractions."

"And find an easy escape. How long until backup arrives?"

"At least twenty minutes. The port's structure and size does make the navigation of it complex."

Jim doesn't like the thought of waiting. "We don't confront them directly. And there's no use in donning a disguise in front of a telepath. Shit. Our options are running out here, Spock."

"Perhaps we could create an opportunity for Dr. McCoy to attempt to escape on his own."

"Even the slightest mistake, and he might be killed. No." Jim drums his fingers against the pillar in front of him. An idea forms. "What if the confrontation is... indirect?" He looks to Spock.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Possible. Provided the circumstances are convincing."

A twinkle comes into Kirk's eyes. "I've been told I can be very charming."

Spock seems like he has doubts concerning Jim's acting skills. "As you stated, attempting to con a telepath would be futile. She will know your intentions are insincere."

Jim returns to staring at McCoy's profile. "It won't be the lady I'm flirting with."

"Ah," Spock says after a moment. "In that case, you may be successful."

Jim is already ironing out the details of the plan. "For this to work, we can't approach them together."

"I am aware of that."

Jim straightens slightly and sighs through his nose. "All right, then." He knows he can trust Spock to stay behind. "Hold the men back for now. Wait for my signal."

"Acknowledged."

Jim meets Spock's gaze, and what he sees there steadies him. He offers his second-in-command a faint smile. "But first there is a small task where your input would be most helpful." Having successfully piqued Spock's curiosity, Jim winks and places a guiding hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. "What do you know about fashion, Spock?"

~~~

Leonard has an itching ear that his granny used to say is indicative of someone talking about him. He would bet a year's salary Jim has just convinced Spock of some hare-brained scheme that will inevitably land the three of them into worse trouble than Leonard is already in. Maybe moving Ruti and Chee along to that ship is the smartest thing to do. Leonard hates the thought of Jim and Spock winding up in harm's way because of him. The least he can do is protect them from themselves.

"So," he says, leaning on his elbows to survey the wreckage of Chee's meal, "are you finished?"

Chee chomps down on the last bite of something unappetizingly gooey. "Dessert."

Even Ruti turns to stare at Chee in displeasure. "No. Dr. McCoy is correct. We must leave now."

Her companion wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. "The ship is not far. We have time."

"That ship's master cares not if we are aboard upon departure," Ruti fires back. "Should the vessel leave without us, who would then guard and care for the Lady?"

"Little chit!" Chee thumps his fist on the table, his entire countenance stiffening in anger. "I am loyal to my Lady!"

This is devolving into the kind of fight Leonard doesn't want to be in the middle of. "Okay, calm down, both of you! People are staring."

Ruti visibly settles herself, closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, the occupants of the surrounding tables blink in a dazed fashion before slowly resuming feeding themselves. 

Leonard suppresses a shiver. Ruti decidedly is the victor, in his opinion. Chee appears to think so as well because he pushes his plate aside as if no longer having an appetite. Leonard doesn't blame him.

"If that is the end to any dissension," Ruti remarks in a tightly controlled tone, rising to her feet, "we have somewhere we should be. Now—"

"Leonard!"

Leonard's head whips around at that very familiar—and far too jolly—cry. The blood drains out of his head.

James T. Kirk pops into existence, upsetting several people as he dives straight through the middle of the line of hungry customers now winding around the border of the eating area. With arms thrown wide in greeting and bearing a megawatt grin, the man gives the impression of someone having just arrived at the galaxy's coolest amusement park.

 _Oh hell._ Leonard stutters, "W-We gotta go," but it's already too late to take action. Not only is Jim bulldozing toward them with definite intent, but Ruti and Chee have turned to meet—or brawl with—this newcomer.

At the last second possible, Jim veers aside of Ruti and Chee, coming to a bouncing halt within an arm's length of McCoy, who reluctantly stands up.

Still grinning, Jim sets his hands on his hips. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" he says to McCoy.

Leonard almost chokes. That's usually _his_ line. "Hey, Jim," he returns a bit weakly. 

"C'mere, you!" gushes Kirk, practically tackling Leonard into a rib-crushing hug. 

Leonard ends up half-sitting, half-leaning against the table, smashed to Jim. His fear turns to annoyance. "Stop that," he bites near Kirk's ear. "I can't breathe!"

Jim loosens his grip just slightly. He pulls back far enough to lay a smacking kiss upon Leonard's cheek.

Leonard considers planting his knee in a very sensitive place but in the end squirms fiercely enough that Jim has let him go or be toppled over.

Kirk finally faces the onlookers, draping an arm casually across McCoy's shoulders. "Hello," the man greets them pleasantly. "Are you friends of Leonard's?"

Chee eyes Kirk in the same way a madman looks for an easily accessible patch of skin to stab. 

Ruti has no expression at all. "We are," she states blandly. " _Leonard_ ," she stresses, "who is this?"

Leonard takes that to mean _get rid of him quickly or there will be consequences_. He's surprised she doesn't already know Jim is Starfleet by his—wait a second.

Leonard realizes then that Jim definitely thought of a plan. Gone is the captain's gold tunic and standard-issue blank pants. Somehow Jim has acquired another outfit, likely from the only clothes aisle of the superstore. He is the picture of a tourist trying to go native: a half-tucked-in vibrant print shirt covered by a light pink jacket too short in the arms, lime-green shorts clearly two sizes too big held up by a rope belt, a sun visor hanging from a cord around the neck, bangles on both wrists that flash in the overhead lighting and, finally, sandals more suited to a tropical getaway than a space station. 

Under any other circumstances, Leonard would be embarrassed to be seen with him. 

Jim's arm across his shoulders tightens briefly. "A very _good_ friend."

"I barely know him," Leonard says.

"I'm his ex," Jim replies, still smiling. Over Leonard's shocked silence, he adds, "He doesn't like to talk about me."

Ruti says very carefully to Leonard, "I did not realize you were mated." 

Leonard interprets that as _I will murder you and this fool._

"Married, mated, same thing," Jim says breezily. He strokes Leonard's back. "I haven't heard from you in a while, dear heart. Why didn't you tell me you were passing through this sector?"

"Maybe because I didn't want to see you?" Leonard says through gritted teeth. He shakes off Jim's touch and turns on the man. "Jim, spouse from whom I'm _happily divorced_ , why don't we chat later? I'm busy."

Jim says, pleasant as ever, "I missed you."

"I said I'm busy. I have a career, remember?"

Jim tries to catch one of Leonard's hands, only to be rebuked. "You're not on your ship, so you must not be working today."

"I will be back there shortly, once I finish—" He waves a hand at Ruti and Chee. "—visiting with friends."

Kirk turns back to Ruti. "Have you tried a Moonrock Twist yet?" he asks impishly.

Chee crosses his arms over his chest but demands, "What is that?"

"A drink the locals prefer. Very fruity. My favorite!" Jim pats the air near McCoy, who swats at him again. 

Leonard scoffs. "You hate fruit with your liquor."

Kirk ignores that. "My treat for everyone if," he says coaxingly, "you would grant me a small portion of time with this handsome guy."

Leonard is going to punch him. He really is.

Ruti remains silent for a long minute. "You are determined."

Much of Jim's jovialness fades. "Of course," he tells Ruti. "Second chances are hard to come by—and I couldn't live with myself if I wasted this one."

Leonard is frankly astonished that Ruti seems to believe everything Kirk is saying. By god, doesn't she read minds?

"I must agree concerning second chances." Ruti glances once at Chee. "It appears our plans have changed."

Chee grunts and averts his gaze. 

Ruti moves around the table to come closer to Kirk and McCoy. Leonard has to give Jim credit where it's due: Jim does not tense in the slightest at the approach. But to anyone who knows the man well, Jim's self-restraint is complimented by his ability to react on a moment's notice. 

Yes, trouble's brewing, senses Leonard. Kirk is primed for whatever comes next, and no doubt Spock is lurking nearby, ready to assist.

"You have intrigued me," she says politely to their new acquaintance. "Where can we try this beverage you speak so highly of?"

Jim beams. "I know just the place. Follow me."

And with that remark lingering on the air, somehow prompting McCoy's apprehension to return full-force, Kirk slips his arm through Leonard's and takes point of their four-person party.

"So, Leonard," Jim asks of his companion as they march back to the plaza, "tell me what you've been up to."

He drawls flatly, "Thinking of quitting Starfleet."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Because every time I see my captain's face, I want to strangle him."

Jim makes a choked sound and lowers his voice. "Violence is not the answer, Bones."

"With some idiots," mutters McCoy darkly in response, "it's the only one."


	5. Part Five

There is a common misconception about the telepathic, that they prefer each other's company to any other. In fact, the opposite is true: unless of the same species with similar training and complementary strengths, telepaths are generally wary of each other—with good reason. One slip, one clumsy or careless burst of emotion or thought, from a telepath can lead to the obliteration of the other's shield, forcing them both into raw, crippling exposure. Worse, should they in those hectic moments be unable to prevent their powers from crashing together, the result is certain destruction for any nearby individuals with little-to-no mental defense against the backlash.

But despite knowing of the risks and having studied specific incidents in history as a mandatory course of his early tutelage, Spock feels less afraid and more curious. The telepath near McCoy (and now Kirk) is of a race he does not recognize. But she must be strong, that much he can discern. While the physical eye may see her, her presence is entirely absent to his extrasensory perception. 

Yes, a curiosity indeed.

From a vantage point that affords him a decent view of the proceedings and is within his hearing range if he concentrates (yet seems to offend the nearby market staff for he shows no interest in spending any money on their superfluous products), his attention turns to his shipmates. The mere sight of them rekindles an aftertaste of their presence, as real as the warmth of the air and as harmlessly normal. It seems a condition he could easily become accustomed to, but perhaps this is not an observation to mention to either Kirk or McCoy. Most humans are naturally hesitant of the notion of connected minds because they cannot comprehend it as a normal—and in some cases, pleasant—state of existence. As may be expected, there needs to be some education made available to assuage their apprehension.

This is when Spock realizes that errant training of thought has broken his concentration; for several minutes past, he knows not what has been said between Jim and the others. The group is preparing to vacate the premises of the supermarket, however, with no indication of hostility or coercion. But Spock has not verified their heading due to his distraction. Were he still in school, he might be shamed by his elders for the mistake. Conversely, his mother would simply call the act "daydreaming" and inquire as to the nature of his thoughts.

Which, Spock determines, most assuredly imagining his tie to bondmates would _not_ be a suitable subject matter to share with one's mother.

Spock opens his communicator, thankful he had previously discussed a rough outline of the plan with his captain. "Spock to Enterprise," he calls.

Uhura answers immediately, "Enterprise here. Mr. Spock, Mr. Giotto confirms his understanding of the Captain's orders. Security just now boarded the port. I will connect your comm to their channel."

"Very good, Lieutenant. The Captain appears to have successfully engaged the party. I shall proceed to follow them. An update, please, on Mr. Chekov's preparations."

"Ready to go, sir!" pipes in the officer in question.

"Mr. Chekov, I estimate you have approximately twenty-one minutes to assume your position."

"On my way now, sir," comes the response, already fading out as Chekov undoubtedly jumps into the bridge's lift.

A new voice comes online. "Mr. Spock!"

"Yes, Mr. Scott?"

"Be careful doun there, the lot of you. I don't fancy sitting in this captain's chair permanently."

"Nor I, Mr. Scott. I will see to the Captain's safety."

"Sulu," Spock hears Scott say, "has Pavel reached the transporter yet?"

Satisfied with everything he has heard, Spock informs them, "Maintain regular check-ins with Security. I will contact you as the situation develops. Spock out."

Tucking away the communicator, he glides around a stand of holographic postcards in time to catch the final flashes of Kirk's tourist outfit and McCoy's uniform across the store, moments later hidden from sight by the opaque entrance sliding shut upon their exit. A seller tries to intercepts Spock on the way out, shaking two handfuls of accessories uncomfortably close to his face. 

"Sir," the man half cries, half demands, "you can't leave empty-handed! Not even a souvenir?! Come this way, my fellow—I have an entire section just for you, both pleasing to the eyes and the palate!"

"Unlikely," replies Spock. "That which pleases me has already left the building, and I must hurry to catch them."

He leaves the gawking man in his wake.

~~~

_This will work,_ thinks Kirk, his jovial facade at odds with the churning of an uneasy stomach and a slight case of nerves. _This has to work._

From beneath the sun visor now pulled low over his face, he glances at McCoy walking beside him, wishing he could say something that will make both of them feel more hopeful. But he cannot, and so McCoy will simply have to trust him to know what he's doing.

Unless... Yes, maybe there is a way to give Bones a sign. 

He casually slips his hand into McCoy's, managing to squeeze it before McCoy's second of hesitation passes and the man shakes off Jim's hand as unwanted attention. 

Feeling a bit impish, Jim suppresses a smile, reaching again for the doctor's hand. This time, McCoy flings it back at him in clear agitation, followed by a scathing look.

"Knock it off," warns the doctor.

Jim does smile now. "I've missed you so much!"

McCoy stops walking. So does the remainder of their party.

The man eyes Jim briefly before saying in a calm, careful tone of voice, "Look, the only reason I'm going along with you is because you seem to have something important to tell me." The doctor's gaze flicks over to a staring Ruti and Chee. "I'm kind of pressed for time, Jim, so if you want your chance, stop pissing me off and let's get to where you want us to go."

Jim understands the message. Wherever Ruti and Chee had planned to take McCoy, the reason behind it—and likely the kidnapping itself—comes with a short deadline. Usually, the reason to operate under a time-constraint at a port like this one involves making a scheduled departure. So, that implies these two had planned to stow his doctor away on some ship and leave with him.

Jim's never going to let that happen.

As he calms a sudden urge to grab McCoy and run, he considers why McCoy's unwanted company would agree to a leisurely stop for drinks with an unexpected guest. Maybe he is of use to them as well?

"Well?" McCoy demands, cutting into Kirk's thoughts.

Well, decides Jim, he just has to be careful. And he always is. Most of the time.

Some of the time.

"Sorry," he apologizes, because realistically being careful is a poor possibility for both of them. "You're right—and I swear I'll make my point soon." For some reason that promise flusters McCoy, so Jim adds for good measure, "Trust me," low enough that only McCoy can hear him.

Saying nothing and looking at no one, McCoy resumes walking. Jim catches up to him.

~~~

It's going to go wrong, so very wrong. Leonard has been in the thick of Jim's plans before and despite what his captain wants him to believe, Leonard is certain at some point everything will go sideways. It always does.

A funny sensation starts in the pit of McCoy's stomach when Kirk finally branches off the gangway to the entrance of an establishment just at the border the entertainment district. McCoy's earlier visit had been during an hour when the local bars and lounges were shut down; now the entire strip is slowly coming awake, one by one opening their doors to longtime patrons and curious bypassers. It's still too early for the nightlife crowd to arrive, so by all accounts, Kirk has picked the perfect time and place: somewhere not yet overrun by civilians and where fights don't attract more attention than usual; and being on the farthest port edge, the escape route is one-way, back to the main thoroughfare.

Leonard wipes sweat from his forehead. If he's nervous, he imagines Ruti and Chee must be extremely paranoid by now.

But surprisingly Chee takes one look at the flashing Open sign of the lounge, makes a grunt that almost seems satisfied, and loudly bangs through the doorway. Jim follows next, McCoy in the middle, and lastly Ruti. 

Leonard's eyes adjust slowly to the dim interior, and then he bumps into Jim, half-blind, tensing on instinct. He takes in the man's stance. "Something the matter, Jim?"

It isn't until the doctor speaks that Kirk seems to realize he has stopped moving, the words startling Jim into continuing his path forward.

"It's nothing," Jim replies. "Just thought I recognized someone, that's all." 

That's an answer McCoy will not contradict publicly, especially now with his heart knocking against his ribs as they approach a curved bar. The smiling man standing on the other side of it is the reason for his heart palpitations. 

Pavel Chekov raises a hand in innocent greeting before resuming the routine motion of wiping down a row of shot glasses. His outfit isn't quite that of a bartender's but in the low lighting, no one will likely question the standard-issue black undershirt and pants. 

McCoy's heart starts to pound harder as Jim sails up to a stool, slaps a hand down on the countertop, and declares, "Bartender, service!"

Leonard's forward momentum is stalled by a hand lightly landing on his arm. He swallows and stills under Ruti's scrutiny. Chee abandons his surveillance of the lounge at large to stand opposite them.

"Empty," the alien mutters.

Ruti says quietly to McCoy, "You are of use to us. He is not. Do not forget that."

Jim has turned away from Chekov to observe their group in measured silence. Leonard can hear the cognitive wheels turning in Kirk's head as the man watches them.

Ruti's hand leaves Leonard's arm. Feeling as though he is stepping on very thin ice where one wrong step can lead to disaster, Leonard delicately takes a seat next to Kirk.

Jim faces the bartender again. "Recommendations?"

Chekov beams. "I have a special zat will put hair on a bald man."

Of course it would be Pavel, decides Leonard with a bit of dismay. The young fool probably volunteered for this part of the adventure. "We'll pass," he interjects.

Since Chekov seems momentarily disappointed, his offer must have been sincere. After all, the lieutenant is quite talented at mixing drinks—even if in all likelihood Chekov learned the art of bartending before he could legally imbibe his own concoctions.

Jim leans toward Leonard, hooking an arm around his waist. "Three Moonrock Twists and—" Here, he pats Leonard's side fondly. "Something plainer for this old country doctor."

McCoy snorts.

Chekov nods. " _Moonrock Twist_ —da, everyone wants zat," and begins pulling bottle after bottle off the shelves behind him.

With the sneaking suspicion this "fantastic" local drink is more fiction than fact, as Jim does love to embellish his cover when in disguise, Leonard has to ask, "What's in this amazing drink, Jim?"

Jim winks. "Not even I know that, Leonard."

Yes, definitely fiction. No matter, Chekov likes a good challenge just like the captain he works for, and indeed the young man is already laser-focused on inventing a Moonrock Twist right before their very eyes.

"Double whiskey," he calls to Chekov's back. "I think I'm gonna need it."

~~~

McCoy's comment makes Jim want to laugh out loud. Quelling that urge, he turns instead to their companions who remain at a significant distance.

"Sit down," he coaxes them. When no one reacts to that, his gaze lands on the larger of the two. "Hey, you're kind of cute. What's your name?"

Cute growls. 

"Is he always so friendly?" Jim asks of the female.

"You would not want to see his unfriendly side," she says. 

Her deliver is mild, but the threat is heartfelt. Jim offers her a thin-lipped smile. "I'll take that into consideration."

The slam of a tumbler onto the countertop gains everyone's attention. Chekov crows proudly, "Ze Moonrock Twist! My _finest_ creation!"

"Your creation?" Ruti questions sharply.

Jim tenses, but Chekov recovers quickly. "Not mine exactly," the bartender explains, "but all Twists were invented in Russia and carefully preserved through ze generations." At Ruti and Chee's blank looks, he goes on a little too eagerly, "Russian tsars were of the highest nobility on Old Earth—and here, obviously."

McCoy grumbles for someone to give him his whiskey. 

Jim's willing to play along. "How many Russians have settled on this spaceport?"

Chekov blinks. "We _own_ it."

Kirk rubs his forehead. McCoy covers his eyes.

The ridiculousness of the conversation appears to have tempered some response in the others, for the female makes her way to the bar and studies the glass with an iridescent sheen to it before holding it out to her companion. "Drink," she orders him.

Chee drinks the concoction, grimacing fiercely afterward. "It is disgusting."

Chekov snaps to attention, his normally cheerful demeanor darkening considerably.

Chee tosses out, "And weak!"

Sensing a true red alert at the fire sparking to life in Chekov's eyes, Kirk lets go of McCoy immediately. While he has never seen Chekov engage in a public brawl with someone over petty remarks, as Spock would say, there is a first time for everything. 

He drops the appearance of good humor, his palms out in a conciliatory manner but his tone sharp as he addresses their adversary. "You're entitled to an opinion, mister." His gaze flicks again to Chekov, who is twisting a hand towel into a tight rope. "But don't make it an insult."

The female sits down. "I believe my friend means to say we would prefer a different beverage."

Chekov crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, another drink. A better one!"

Kirk lays his hand on the counter when it seems like Chekov might jump over it to throttle the big fool and says lightly, "McCoy hasn't had his whiskey. Pour us all one, will you?"

A moment passes, and at last the tension breaks as Chekov caves to the subtle command to stand down, though the young man mutters under his breath as he makes a show of studying various labeled bottles of whiskey.

Jim sighs through his nose. Now, the second act begins.

~~~

Leonard sighs in conjunction with Jim, relieved that a moment of disaster has been averted. He cannot imagine that the whole of Kirk's plan is to attack Chee with only Chekov for backup.

"You wanted to talk to me about something," he reminds Jim, hoping for some clue of what he should be doing to help their ruse along.

"Yes," weighs in Ruti, watching Kirk rather McCoy. "Make good use of your time."

"What about our time?" growls Chee, alternating his glower between all three humans in the room. "It is more precious than theirs!"

"Humans keep closer ties than we do, Chee. They are persistent in their pursuits, even when considering one another as nuisances. I believe the term for this is... family."

McCoy spins to face her, shocked. 

It's true. Kirk has been his family for years now. Ruti has guessed that accurately, despite the blustering and harsh words and Leonard pretending his relationship with Jim is inconsequential. But good lord, how far has she read into his mind? Into his heart? 

This can only mean the ruse is coming to an end. He needs to do something. Push Kirk away, or just tell Ruti to just drag him to that damned ship already. There has to be something he can do before it all goes south.

Damn it, Leonard should have never left Spock's side. Even if Ruti had been watching him, following him, long before he actually got lost, the moment he separated himself from Spock, he unknowingly played into her hands. While he cannot change that fact now, he can make certain no one else suffers for it.

The door to the lounge swings inward then, a newcomer casting a long, thin shadow across the floor. 

Chee jumps in that direction, visibly coiling as if about to attack. Ruti soundlessly positions herself so Chee remains between her and the rest of them. 

The new arrival is the picture of calm: steady stride, hands tucked behind him, expression bland. Spock approaches the bar as if there is nothing in the galaxy they could be upset about. But he does stop midway to turn his dark gaze fully onto McCoy.

"Good evening, Leonard."

Leonard chokes, frozen like the others around him. Even Chekov barely moves, holding out a shot glass full of whiskey that no one tries to take.

Then Kirk reacts, his stance softening, relaxing, as the man himself leans against the edge of the bar. Pulling the shot glass from Chekov's hand, Jim downs it in one go, his gaze never wavering from the Vulcan in the Starfleet uniform. 

"Leonard," Jim questions mildly, "who's he?"

McCoy still can't think of a suitable response, but he doesn't need to because Spock answers for him.

"I am called Spock... and am Dr. McCoy's partner."

Kirk's tone grows ever lazier. "I take it you don't mean colleague?"

"That applies as well."

"Hm," hums Kirk. "I guess you've heard of me then. I'm Jim, Leonard's _first_ partner."

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. "I cannot recall having heard of a first partner."

Kirk sets the shot glass down none-too-gently. "That so? Well, he's never mentioned _you_."

Leonard rubs a hand across his mouth, frankly marveling at the audacity of his idiot friends. It's only because he notices Chee's expression wavering between confusion and suspicion that he accepts there may be bigger idiots than Spock and Kirk who will believe this ridiculous byplay.

Kirk and Spock turn as one to McCoy as if awaiting his decision of who the first partner is (and who's better than whom), making Leonard want to smack them both. So they expect him to play his part in this little three-person soap opera? 

Hell no.

Leonard stands up and looks to Ruti instead. "We've got a problem."

"And that problem is?" she asks softly.

"I don't think either of these fellas deserves me." Leonard hikes a thumb at Spock. "This one likes his work better than he likes me, and that one—" He doesn't even bother to point to Kirk. "—never could express his feelings properly."

Kirk's mouth opens and closes. "But I married you!"

"Sham marriage if you ask me," Leonard says sardonically, ignoring the fizzling noise Kirk makes. "So you see my conundrum," he tells Ruti. "If I let them fight over me, the victor might actually believe he has won something." 

"Interesting," announces Spock. "Then how should we proceed?"

"Do they have a brain illness?" Chee inquiries of his telepathic co-conspirator.

"No," she confirms, clearly much to Chee's dismay, shifting her attention as she addresses Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. "You all speak the truth—but it matters not that you are in love with each other. Dr. McCoy's services are required to save a life," she informs Kirk and Spock, "and your interference is not welcome."

"Do you think you can stop us?" Jim demands, moving to stand in front of Leonard with Spock joining him.

"Jim!" McCoy warns, recognizing the ruthless glaze to Ruti's eyes.

"Is that a challenge, _Captain_?"

Leonard feels it then, an odd sensation like a tickle in his mind, deep inside. Before he can decide how to react, the view in front of him bursts into red: Security officers pouring through the front entrance and a side door Leonard hadn't noticed before now, their attack as erratic as ants swarming out of a hill on high alert to protect and defend their territory. Alongside them, a nearly blinding light from outside pierces the darkened lounge, causing Leonard to throw up an arm to shield his eyes.

 _Hell has come_ , he thinks. _Dear god, I hope we survive it._

Inside his head, a voice whispers back, _There is no god here, Dr. McCoy._

He stumbles sideways, hitting something hard and unyielding. A cloud is descending, obscuring what he should be aware of. There's fighting—Kirk and Chekov had pounced on Chee in the moment of inattention; the large alien heaves them off much like bear shaking away two vaguely irritating gnats—elegantly long fingers find his face—Spock?—someone yells—there should be pain but the cloud is relentless, an intrusion, a force driving his will down, down, down until, finally, there is simply silence.

After a time, Leonard opens his eyes to find himself propped against the side of the bar. Silence still prevails, a sea of it stretching out across body after body of fallen comrades. In the middle of that sea, only a slight figure remains standing.

Ruti holds her hand out to him and, helpless, McCoy climbs to his feet and staggers to her. He tries to call for help but who exists in this silence to hear his cry except her? 

_You will feel no pain,_ she promises as her hand grasps his. _No fear. No anguish._

He looks around, certain he ought to be experiencing all of those things. She's hurt everyone, the lives he cares for more than himself. He tries to spin away from her to see all that she took from him, to desperately determine how much of his heart has been destroyed in the blink of an eye, but the grip on him is too tight, too strong.

She tugs him toward an exit, navigating them around the unmoving bodies, while he ponders why he cannot dig in his heels to stop their flight. And he does want to stop. It's bad inside, yes, but beyond this place is something worse. Leonard can sense the menace, waiting.

 _He is near_ , the voice—Ruti's—whispers, not needing to give a name. Strangely Leonard can guess it because while he feels nothing, Ruti feels everything, most especially fear. 

The cousin, full of vengeance, has arrived at the station.


	6. Part Six

Officer Huido rarely has an exciting day, and he has been in his given profession for over fifteen years. Yet what should have been the best day of his career—nay, of his life!—is completely ruined. This is why he sits moping over his great loss in a holding cell. Utterly dashed, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet and impress the ever-illustrious Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. 

And all because Murtee had to be overdramatic about some petty theft! Huido has seen the shopkeeper's wares, strategically displayed to catch a tourist's eye: overpriced imitations, most of them, and not worth the wrapping they are in. Why go blathering on about a missing medkit (no doubt containing out-of-date instruments and moldy gauze) when there is a decorated starship captain—a bonafide celebrity!—visiting their backwater station?

Huido has never had any hopes of his friend being smart, but now he's downright appalled by Murtee's lack of sensibility.

"I'm downright appalled!" he repeats out loud, deciding the offender in question needs to know how he feels.

Murtee twitches an antenna in Huido's direction. "I can't be here. Do you know how much profit I miss when my shop closes at rush hour?"

"It's your own fault."

"You odious human, you attacked me!"

"You embarrassed me in front of Captain Kirk!"

"You—"

The brig officer on duty bangs a baton against his desk. "Quiet down, you two!"

Huido shakes his stasis cuffs at the man. "Is this really necessary?"

"I'm under orders to leave you in there until you remember what your brain is for. You know how the Commander feels about public brawls." The officer selects a data padd from the middle of a teetering stack. "Just be thankful nobody told the Chief. He'd demote you." The man pauses. "Maybe demote you."

Huido hunches over, understanding his situation all too well. The Chief is more prone to tossing an errant officer out of an airlock than strip his rank. Less administrative paperwork that way. 

Huido's colleague goes on, "What got into you anyway? We're supposed to be on our best behavior while Starfleet is around. You know that."

Huido sighs gustily. Yes, he made a mistake. A terrible mistake. How will he ever redeem himself in the eyes of Kirk? 

Murtee seems to have guessed the turn of Huido's morose thoughts and begins to snicker. "Huido, you look like you're going to cry! Ahahaha!"

Huido glares at him. "Oh, shut up, you. I'll be out of here soon enough, but I'll see to it that you lose _several_ days of business!"

Murtee blinks then, and after a moment's pause sniffs delicately. "I will buy you more nougats. With those disgusting nuts you find so delicious."

Huido also blinks. "Cashews _and_ pistachios."

"Deal."

The brig officer simply rolls his eyes. "Huido, only you would take candy as a bribe." Then he glances aside, gapes, and leaps out of his chair, snapping to attention.

As a unit, Huido and Murtee lean to the far left to see around the corner of their cell wall. Huido's gaze widens at the sight of his superior, then widens further at the men following on Wardyn's heels. His despair dissipates in an instant. 

"C-Captain Kirk!" he gasps and shakes his friend excitedly. "Murtee—Murtee, look!"

" _By the Great Barters_ ," declares Murtee, "the poster boy is back!"

Huido leaps from the bench, stumbling just a bit as he does so, to assume the same proper stance as his red-faced colleague across the room. He doesn't quite know how to a salute with cuffed hands but tries his damnedest to make it work.

Kirk is not alone. That Vulcan officer is at the captain's side, and behind the pair is a band of rumpled red-shirted men and women. 

Murtee elbows Huido when two officers from the station's security team enter the building last, dragging between them a very large, very angry-looking thug. "Huido!" the shopkeeper bleats, alarmed, as the officers escort their prisoner directly to Murtee and Huido's cell.

They scuttle aside as the blue laser-lines of the cell's force field momentarily disappear, and their new cellmate is shoved inside. With this new bulk taking up almost half of their free space, Murtee presses closely against Huido's side. 

Bearing his teeth at the grim-faced men and women outside the cell, the prisoner jerks up his cuffed hands and throws a double-fisted punch right into the force field. Blue sparks shoot every which way. Huido and Murtee lock onto each other for dear life. But their cellmate doesn't seem scared of or, in fact, much at all affected by the backlash of energy. Then he pivots to face them.

Nosy and just as senseless as Huido expected, Murtee twitches his antennae and asks, "So, what are you in for?"

Huido would bet this fellow has killed somebody. Or wants to kill somebody. Maybe _will_ kill them. 

So much for a future of nougats and redemption.

But the thug only faces away again, returning his glare to the open brig area.

Huido notices then that Captain Kirk's condition is not as pristine as it was earlier that day. Moreover, there is a certain chill to Kirk's gaze as Kirk watches the prisoner. Huido studies the captain a moment longer, feeling he has missed something of importance.

Ah, yes. Kirk may be famous but he has horrible taste in civilian clothing, Huido observes sadly.

"When are we being released?" Murtee half-demands, like Huido unnerved but also curious about all the commotion in the station.

"I don't know," Huido answers honestly, watching as Kirk's attention is drawn away by Commander Wardyn. "I think our case just became a low priority."

~~~

Jim is livid: at the enemy, at this farcical port security, and mainly at himself. He miscalculated, and they all paid the price. Especially Bones.

Clenching his fists, Kirk reminds himself to count to ten to suppress the urge to lash out at someone or something. No one here deserves his anger except for— 

"Captain," a voice interrupts his thoughts, "we need to talk."

Jim faces Wardyn, taking in the elder man's impassive countenance. "Are the medics here?"

"They will be momentarily," the commander says, then tips his head in the direction of a closed office door. "This way." 

Jim starts to follow him, then stops short to round on the person beside him also doing the same. "I can handle this."

"Captain." Spock pauses, seeming to think better of something. "Jim."

Jim overrides any forthcoming protest with "Let Medical take a look at you."

Spock's eyebrows snap together. "I do not require their attention."

"That's not for you to decide—not when you look to be in worse condition than the rest of us." 

The fact Spock doesn't come back with some smart remark confirms Jim's suspicions. Knowing his duty, Jim places some steel into his tone. "I want a report on your fitness for duty, Mr. Spock. If you are uncomfortable allowing the port medics to assess you, we'll have M'Benga brought down." Which would take even more time away from finding McCoy, a now critical priority—and a possibility Jim is certain Spock won't entertain. "Consider that an order."

The flash through Spock's eyes in a human might be called mutinous. But Spock doesn't follow his captain to Wardyn' office. 

Kirk firmly closes the door on his way in and takes a wide-legged stance, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Wardyn turns away from some photo on the corner of his desk, pushing it aside to settle there. He gives Jim a measuring look. "You've made fools of us, Captain."

"It was my prerogative not to notify your command base of the situation."

"Let's be clear," Wardyn says with some bite. "This wasn't some petty fight between hotheads. It was a _hostage_ situation. At minimum, a report should have been made. So now I want to know... what's really going on here? Why did you try to keep the intel contained?" The commander's gaze sharpens. "Is the operation under blackout?"

Tempting to let the man run with that idea, but Jim knows it would come back to bite him in the ass, hard. "No, there was no reason for the covertness. That's just how I run things."

"Your ship, your rules. I understand that. But this is _my_ base under _my_ command. So stop stepping over us, Kirk. We want to help, and we can—regardless of whatever opinion you have formed about our competency."

Jim uncrosses his arms to run a hand through his hair, some of his frustration spilling over. "The Chief of Port hasn't given me a moment's peace since I docked."

"Well, he _is_ an idiot," acknowledges Wardyn in a mild tone. "Lucky for you, since you could use our help now, I can convince the Chief to stay out of the way until your officer is recovered."

Jim can't help but respect this guy. And in this situation, McCoy would caution Jim not to be a fool himself and extend an olive branch, so he meets the commander's gaze. "What do you recommend?"

Wardyn smiles slightly. "How are you at interrogations?"

"I like to play the bad cop."

"Good. I'm told I can be a decent voice of reason. Shall we have a chat with the one you wanted arrested?"

"We shall," Jim says, his tone hardening. Chee is precisely the person deserving of the brunt of his temper. He accompanies Wardyn from the office, matching the commander's stride.

~~~

Spock generally prefers to think of himself as an individual who can remain calm in the most stressful of situations. But right now Spock is not calm. He feels much: anger, distress, concern, confusion, disappointment. He does not know whether these are his emotions surfacing or the combination of his and others'. There is too much data, too many feelings and thoughts outside, pelting continuously like rain against the meager shield separating his mind from everyone else's. When the occasional raindrop is strong enough to crystallize, it penetrates the shield's thin membrane and adds pain to the mix.

Instinct urges Spock to agree with Jim. He is not fit for duty. His body needs rest and time to regain strength and balance. In this weakened state, he is a liability.

But it agonizes Spock to recall what it felt like when that unnatural agent—that _outsider_ —burrowed into McCoy's mind. And despite his best efforts, Spock failed to stop it. 

The medics in the small exam room watch Spock nervously. Spock ignores them, trying his best to restrain himself from inappropriately expressing impatience as he waits for his call to the Enterprise to connect.

At last, the person he needs to speak with comes online. 

"Dr. M'Benga," Spock jumps in, forgoing his customary greeting, "the medical staff here require your expertise in Vulcan physiology to guide their efforts."

"So I've heard," the doctor says. "But first, Mr. Spock, I have a question for you."

Not liking M'Benga's cautious tone, Spock stiffens—and realizes his control is so tenuous at present, even his body is a rogue agent, reactive to every strong emotion.

The doctor appears to recognize this heightened response as well but thankfully spares Spock the embarrassment of pointing it out. 

"Proceed," Spock tells him.

"If I recommend you return to the ship, will you?"

"Negative."

M'Benga nods once, not appearing surprised. "Who's in charge there?"

A medic steps forward. "I am."

"We'll start with basic readings and work our way up from there," M'Benga begins. "I don't expect you have some of the equipment on the list I forwarded you. Those would be particular to Vulcans. Dr. McCoy was adamant we acquire them for Mr. Spock's exams."

"As a medical facility, we operate at minimal capacity, sir."

"In that case, I can walk you through some alternative tests. Mr. Spock, make yourself comfortable please."

Spock says before stretching out on the metal exam table, "Doctor, time is of the essence." 

"I know," M'Benga replies softly. "I'll do my best... and you'll do yours?"

Spock understands. The matter of bringing back Leonard McCoy safely has become the concern of many people. 

"I shall," he promises, adding silently, _regardless of the price._

While the medics work diligently to follow M'Benga's instructions, Spock closes his eyes to rest in hopes of restoring a modicum of the reserves needed to face the telepath that stole McCoy away.

~~~

When Leonard comes back to himself, he empties the contents of his stomach into a bin placed conspicuously nearby. It takes a while for him to stop heaving and by that time he's well enough to sit back on his haunches, sweaty and shaking. He can't remember being this sick recently, except for maybe that time he was talked into trying an exotic kind of liquor that nearly killed him. But nothing imbibed has made him this ill.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, he rises unsteadily to his feet, wipes his face on part of his shirt, and turns around. He doesn't recognize the person next to Ruti, and that person forgoes introductions, merely looking at Leonard's rumpled appearance in disgust.

"I will call the cleaning crew," the fellow says to Ruti, gesturing to the bin.

Ruti inclines her head. "Thank you, Captain."

Leonard swallows down the taste of bile. When the man departs the cabin and Ruti takes a step toward him, he deliberately draws away from her. She takes the hint to keep distance between them.

He recognizes the sterility of the air now, has seen more than his fair share of utilitarian rooms like this before, to know where he is. And even if he was still confused, the familiar woman lying on the cot tucked into the corner of the room is a dead giveaway.

He doesn't ask how he came to be here, already knowing the answer. That's what made him physically sick. Thinking about it now is upsetting, in fact, so he shies away from the knowledge and tries to introduce a clinical perspective to his situation.

But at the same time, there is one thing McCoy has to know. "You let me go. Why?"

Ruti studies him carefully. "I need your skill as a doctor."

"You mean you can control me just enough to force me to come here," he says flatly, "but you can't reproduce a skill that requires critical thinking?"

"Correct."

"I hate you." And he hates that he can feel her acceptance of his hatred. It's horrifying to him, like having removed his hand from a spittoon but not yet scrubbed his skin clean. Her emotions are palatable to him when he simply, desperately wants to forget what he's been through.

Forgetting is impossible, unfortunately. 

"Did you kill them?" he asks, closing his eyes.

Ruti drifts toward the cot and the woman there. "No."

His eyes pop back open, and he starts toward her, his anger rising another notch. "Don't lie to me, Ruti. I saw the bodies. I saw—" He chokes on the word _them_ , seeing Spock crumpled at his feet, a partial view of Jim's face from under another body, Chekov's. _Dear god._ His hands tremble at the thought of what he must have left behind.

"I killed no one," repeats Ruti, her tone sharpening. "Why do you think the worst of me?"

"Oh, I don't know... maybe because you kidnap people? Because you enjoy taking away their rights—violating _their minds_? Don't bother trying to justify yourself to me. You are everything I stand against. And, frankly, lady, you're despicable."

Disappointment. 

She's not angry. She's _disappointed._

Leonard balls his hands into fists. "I'm leaving. The only way you'll stop me is to make me your puppet again. Or kill me. Up to you." He heads for the door.

"Please."

It's not the word itself that pulls Leonard up short. In that moment Ruti speaks, Leonard feels it clearly: she is preparing to beg him to stay.

God, how he hates her—and himself for turning back.

Ruti is kneeling on the floor by the cot, her hand on the arm of the unconscious woman, head bowed. "Please," she says again. "I do not want her to die. She is... everything. My cousin will destroy her."

"How are you any different than your cousin?"

Ruti lifts her head to look at him, the grief in her face evident. "Because I love where he hates."

"That's not an answer." But he understands her meaning. "Maybe your cousin has a reason to hate... if you're in love with his wife."

Ruti says nothing.

Leonard sighs through his nose. "So you're willing to beg but you still won't do the right thing and let me go. Fine. We'll compromise, because I don't want you to break what's left of my sanity and you already said you can't lose this woman."

"Compromise," Ruti echoes, as if testing a word foreign to her.

"It means I get something out of this too."

Ruti stands up. "What do you want?" When he just looks at her, she provides the answer herself. "To stay. To go home. To return to the captain and the Vulcan. To love—"

He stops her right there as a funny feeling starts in his stomach. "The first three."

Ruti says a bit dryly, "I know what being in love feels like."

McCoy flushes. "But you don't know when to mind your own business!"

Her "I see" is quite solemn. Then, out of nowhere, "The Vulcan wished to protect you. His telepathy is... different... but I recognize now his intention."

The back of Leonard's hand brushes his cheek, feeling the phantom touch of Spock's fingers there. "Did you hurt him?"

"I do not know. He did not seem anchored when I unleashed. Does his kind not know how to ride an unleashing?"

Apparently not. And somehow Leonard will have to pry past the taboo of asking about Vulcan telepathy-related secrets to find out why not. He really doesn't like the idea of Spock being vulnerable to another telepath; there can be wounds a doctor like Leonard can't fix.

"And the others?" Leonard asks. "Will they recover?"

Suddenly Ruti seems amused. "Most likely. I merely urged their minds to sleep, but I foresee your captain may be angry about that. Chee certainly will."

Leonard straightens, finally noticing Chee's absence. "You left him?"

"It was necessary," she answers simply. "I needed the distraction."

Her words are a sobering reminder of the kind of person he's dealing with. "You knew all along about Jim, didn't you?"

Her amusement grows. "A silly ploy. The spaceport officials are proud to have Captain James Kirk visiting them. His picture has rotated through the newsfeed for days."

"Chee didn't know."

"Chee does not care for the news channel."

"So where does that leave us?" Leonard asks somberly.

Ruti approaches him cautiously, extending her hand. "With a compromise, Dr. McCoy."

~~~

The captain of the long-haul freighter cuts the audioless connection to the storage room where his recently arrived guests are stowed and appear to be arguing. He signals his first officer to come to his side. "Describe again who offered the payment?"

The first officer does so, along with miming the height and girth of the spacer with his hands. He also explains in detail how the massive being pinned him to a wall while making the offer. 

The captain is certain now no person of that description has boarded his vessel. There is only the small chit, the weak human, and that sick-looking female who will probably die during the voyage. The insignia on the human's tunic normally would give a person in his profession pause since he has no desire to attract the attention of Starfleet, but clearly the need for secrecy and the urgency with which his ship was commissioned to provide transport for these guests means they too want to draw the attention of no one in authority.

"Runaways," he decides, grinning at his first officer. "And runaways generally come with rewards. Find out what they're worth and to whom."

"We're scheduled to depart in—"

The captain snorts. "I will think of some excuse. An unexpected engine malfunction." He leans forward with the fierce warning, "Get me a price, or get off my ship!"

The officer salutes him fearfully and hurries from the bridge.

The captain spends a few moments thinking of this unusual opportunity. Then he activates a comm channel in the console before him. "Tell Cleaning there is waste collection waiting in the starboard compartment, and to be quick about it." 

Yes, there's no reason not to treat his guests well. Not until, that is, he knows for certain if they will bring him a sizable profit.


	7. Part Seven

Flashy billboards bob in orbit just beyond the port's outermost ring. A pilot navigates the nose of a sleek cruiser around the ads with apparent expertise until he is able to rotate the cruiser 180 degrees. Then he fires the rear thrusters, backing the vessel into an empty slot in the section marked for tourist crafts and minimally crewed ships. Giant mechanical arms reach for the sides of the cruiser, locking into place with a hiss of steam.

"We're docked, Prime Zanceas," announces the pilot. "Requesting the boarding protocol from the dockmaster now." He mutters something into the comm in his console.

The man standing beside the pilot's chair releases an annoyed huff. He flicks an unappreciative eye toward the largest, shiniest advertisement still glowing in the corner of the cruiser's viewscreen. "Idealistic hacks," he scoffs. "An arrogant lot, this Federation. Just look at that Terran. They've splattered his repulsive face from here to the Orion Beltway. Ridiculous!"

The pilot shrugs, detaching his seatbelt. "It is said he saved a race from complete annihilation and was awarded many honors."

"I am sick of seeing him." The Prime steps down from the platform with a scowl. "Make haste and deploy the Scavengers. I don't want to spend another parsec than necessary in this cesspit." He disappears into a passageway beyond the bridge without waiting for a reply.

In the most spacious cabin of the cruiser which Zan had chosen as his private quarters, he selects a bottle from his brandy collection, uncorks it, and pours a tumbler full. But after a sip, he flings the glass, liquor and all, against the nearest wall, feeling too little satisfaction as it shatters into tiny pieces. A soft-footed servant enters the room to clean up the mess. 

The Prime rips open the first hook of his high-collar jacket, hot anger like a living creature writhing inside him. The farther he journeys from his homeworld, the stronger his emotions are and the more slippery his control over them. Confined to this small vessel for days with no clear outlet, bit by bit the anger has been building, melding with his power until the two are inseparable. Oh, he has been able to tamely siphon some of it away through petty outbursts; but that kind of release is not enough, never enough. He knows very soon he needs to let the heart of his rage loose; otherwise, it will simply burst free of its own accord and destroy _him_ in the process.

He also knows who it wishes to target. If only he could find them, his traitorous wife and servant and the one who stole both from him. 

A snarl builds in his throat at the thought of his cousin. " _Bitch_ ," he hisses, remembering Ruti's parting words: _She could have never loved a monster like you._

The servant hunches inward, no doubt sensing his master's deep anger and fearing it. Though of no psy-strength to be a real threat, all races of their species are born with the ability to gauge the depth of each other's power. In the case of the weak and the low-born, it is a self-preserving instinct, lest they upset someone who can rip them apart with a single thought. 

He gazes with disinterest at the servant now quickly disposing of remaining glass shards. "Get out," he says abruptly, coldly.

The servant wastes no time obeying the order.

Zan throws himself into a high-backed chair, waiting with some impatience for news from the bridge. The Scavengers should pick up the trail easily once inside the station. After all, they are creatures native to his homeworld who hunt his kind, and the pack he brought along he raised and trained personally. They hunger for a taste of death, and the injury dealt to his wife at that last parting should be slowly killing her. The Scavengers will salivate at the scent of her dying.

But even without the trackers, he knows he has caught up to his quarry. His wife has little power of her own, making it difficult for him to track her without aid, but Ruti... Even from inside this vessel, Zan feels Ruti, an irritating pinprick at the periphery of his awareness.

She's running like a fool when she should be facing him in a challenge. _Should_ have challenged him if she had lusted for his bitch-wife enough to even dream of stealing her away.

He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, jaw ticking. 

Well, he will deal with them both this time. Permanently.

~~~

The port security office is busier than it has ever been, in Wardyn's memory. That's less to do with his officers than Kirk's, who have swarmed the place like paranoid little ants ready to defend their home territory. But this isn't their ship, or even a planet, so Wardyn guesses this behavior is unique to the Enterprise crew and their perception that "home" is wherever their captain goes. Kirk doesn't strike Wardyn as the type to be worried about his own safety, and so Wardyn suspects he didn't summon this many security officers. Captain's orders or not, it doesn't stop them from clogging up the archways and guarding the exits like they expect another Big Bad Guy to pop up any second now.

Then there's the captain himself.

Somebody must have brought Kirk a replacement outfit, which is just as well. Wardyn had doubted anyone could have taken Kirk seriously in such an unfashionable get-up. In Starfleet's standard uniform (gold shirt and blank pants), the captain cuts a visually distracting figure in a different way. An intimidating way.

But that could also be a side-effect of the man's flat, no-nonsense expression coupled with the hellfire in his gaze. Kirk is pissed off and not hiding the fact.

This is the week Wardyn should have taken vacation, like his wife had suggested just two days ago. He had grumbled at the thought of going to his sister-in-law's house where her fifteen offspring would cling to him like burrs and demand Uncle Wardyn cart them around _now_. This might be worse than that. 

No, it is. He is stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Port Chief is terrified of the bad publicity of them flubbing a kidnapping case and wants them to heroically save the day. Wardyn knows they simply aren't equipped to handle it. Port Authority employs some smart, talented folks but in truth the team is better suited to stopping coolant leaks and busting up bar fights. When compared to Kirk's whip-smart officers, it feels like they are a bunch of bumbling children among adults.

But he has his pride; so does his staff. He also has a strong sense of responsibility. A Starfleet officer was taken on _his_ watch. So no matter what the truth may be concerning how unskilled and unprepared everyone is, they are going to help.

Kirk is talking in low tones with Mr. Spock. Wardyn had been introduced to Kirk's First Officer after the Vulcan's return from a medical examination. From the look of the commander, he took the brunt of the fallout from the failed recovery operation. But whatever his actual injuries, the port's chief medic had said Mr. Spock refused to return to the Enterprise then explained in the same breath that Kirk's medical staff had cleared the commander to work. "I am functional," as the Vulcan had put it when Kirk challenged Spock's personal report. Kirk is obviously torn between wishing his second-in-command would look after himself better and being grateful he has the man around. These two trade opinions and suggestions on every minute detail, sometimes finishing each other's sentences. Partners who have been working together for a long, long time.

The other injured officers were shipped back to the Enterprise and replaced by more grim-faced men. Not everyone was happy about staying out of the action, apparently, as Wardyn overheard a clipped conversation between Kirk and that Mr. Chekov they had had to request an emergency beam-out for. Based on eyewitness testimonies, Chekov is the one who tried to single-handedly strangle the giant now locked up in the central holding cell; he broke a forearm in the process. That bone is newly regenerated, Chekov had informed his captain, and he is cleared to come back down. Kirk denied the request. Chekov called his captain something nasty in Russian. To Wardyn's shock, Kirk had disregarded the insubordination and said patiently, "I need you where you are, Pavel." Then the conversation quickly turned to Chekov performing some complex procedures to scan for McCoy using the flagship's latest technology.

Kirk is a well-liked captain, Wardyn surmises from that eavesdropping. Respected. There isn't an officer in the room who looks as though he wished to be anywhere else. Wardyn might be slightly envious of that if he didn't already know his own people had little qualms with his command.

Although, he thinks sourly, there is one who _does_ prefer Captain Kirk, spying the very fellow trading elbow shoves with that storeowner who always finds something to complain about. Huido and Murtee appear to be egging each other on to interrogate their new cellmate.

The cellmate, while still ignoring the pair, does seem to be growing more and more irritated by their not-so-quiet whispers.

Waryn often wishes Officer Huido would go ahead and retire, but then he thinks about what that might mean and the end result is rather alarming: Huido, running that junk shop part-time with Murtee; or, god forbid, opening his own little business next door. The shop owner doesn't take well to competition or the perception of it. Half of the weekly call-ins to the station are about Murtee threatening a fellow member of his vendor's association or instigating a public shouting match with neighbors. They let Huido take those calls simply because Huido has a knack for scrapping right back with Murtee in a way that seems to calm the hot-headed shopkeeper down.

There is no doubt in the commander's mind that while one of them alone is a nuisance, the pair together are _trouble_.

"Bring the new guy to the record room in five minutes," he orders the officer on brig duty. "And don't let Huido sneak out. I can't deal with him right now."

"Yes, sir."

"Kirk!" Wardyn calls. "Ready to get started?" he asks when Kirk comes his way, the Vulcan in close attendance.

"More than ready," responds the captain.

Wardyn shows him to the area where their interrogation will take place, and then calls in extra men to remain on stand-by, as is protocol when there is the potential for a violent outburst or an attempt at escape. He's not taking any chances with this big guy.

Said guy is escorted by three guards into the record room in short order. Mr. Spock trades a look with his captain before moving to stand aside with the other officers. Kirk waits until the perp is pushed into a chair before circling the table. The fellow's name is Chee, Wardyn learns. For his part, he takes a seat as well, relaxing, hoping he looks almost friendly when in truth he feels nothing of the sort.

The tension in the room heightens with the silence. Kirk stops midway between Wardyn and Chee, each at one end of the long table. 

Wardyn activates a universal translator despite that, based on observation, the alien appears to knows their language fairly well. "I won't mince words," he begins, fixing his gaze on Chee. "You're under arrest for kidnapping and assault. Normally I would give you a chance to deny these charges or defend your actions but a few men were injured because of you and we have plenty of witnesses." He pauses to allow for an interjection, but Chee only keeps glaring at everyone in the room. "Keep in mind if the Starfleet officer dies, you _will_ be held accountable. So, make this easy on yourself and us. Tell us what we want to know, Mr. Chee. Where's McCoy?"

"Don't know," the alien grunts. "I'm not with him, am I?"

 _Great_ , thinks the commander. This fool wants to play word games.

Kirk already looks like he wants to strangle the guy. "You were moving McCoy to a location when we identified you. Where?"

Chee bares his teeth. "I forgot."

Kirk slams his hands down on the table suddenly. A few of Wardyn's men flinch but none of Kirk's do. "I'm not in the mood of jokes."

"Ha-ha-ha," gurgles Chee, somehow managing to look doubly menacing while taunting them.

Wardyn doesn't condone interrogation by torture but, in that moment, he can sympathize with the need to punch the guy. He looks to Kirk. "I think he's too stupid to know anything."

Kirk straightens up, still eyeing Chee. "Yeah. I wouldn't rate his intelligence above a Denebian slugworm."

Chee rattles his cuffed hands against the table. " _Humans_ are the stupid ones." He glares at Kirk. "Your healer walked right into our trap. Then he didn't even offer a fight!"

"Why him?" asks Kirk. "Did you want his skill set, or to send a message to those he represents?"

Chee snorts.

Wardyn advises, "You should answer the question. Your actions have repercussions that go far beyond this station. A threat to one Starfleet officer is a threat to all—and their institution."

"We may not look like warriors to your kind but we know how to fight," Kirk says softly.

Chee doesn't appear to be getting the message. "You were too weak to defeat me, Captain."

Kirk shows his teeth, the same way the other one does. "I was holding back. Want to go again?"

For a brief second, the alien actually looks intrigued by the offer. Then he seems to catch himself and bangs his cuffs loudly onto the table. "I say no more."

"Don't be a fool," Wardyn says. "Even silence can precipitate a war— _especially_ silence. Right now, you are the voice of your people, as I speak for mine."

"He doesn't understand, Commander. He _is_ that much of a fool."

"You're wrong," growls Chee. "I speak for no race, nor any master. And I'm not part of any stinkin' Federation like yours."

Kirk presses his palms against the table, leaning into Chee's face. "Mister, right now, it doesn't matter to me where you come from or what your laws are there. You're in my territory, and you took my officer. So we play by _my_ rules." Kirk looks Chee over like Chee is lacking in some way. "Not that I care, but you seem well-acquainted with this kind of interrogation. A guy like you, all muscle and no thought, always on the wrong side of the law. Oh yeah, I've seen your kind before."

Wardyn who had been silent until then breaks the tension following that accusation. "Mr. Chee, your crimes _here_ are enough for us to throw you in a prison for a long time. If your people want to make a fuss over it, we'll deal with that when the time comes."

Kirk snorts softly. "And if those people like you as little as you like them, I don't imagine they'll come to your rescue. You could be in prison for decades." He smirks slightly. "Possibly permanently. I mean, truth be told, the conditions aren't too bad... but the food? Oh, the food is the absolute _worst._ "

Chee snarls at that, but he also looks disconcerted.

Wardyn is impressed. Somehow Kirk knows the exact right spot to aim for with this thug—in the stomach, apparently. For those who take the quality of their meals seriously, prison food is more damning than a death sentence. 

Chee doesn't say anything. He doesn't appear happy either.

Kirk pulls back and sits on the edge of the steel table, crossing his arms over his chest without taking his eyes off the other guy. "Your move," he says lightly. "Cooperate and we can set you up with your favorite snacks all day long."

Chee glances between them then flicks a long look toward Spock and the guards in the observation gallery. "Want a deal," he says at last.

Kirk and Wardyn simply wait.

"A deal for me and—" Chee quiets, rattling his cuffed hands. His pause indicates some inner turmoil. "—the Lady," he finishes.

Anger tightens Kirk's face. Wardyn has a moment of alarm, thinking Kirk is about to toss all their progress out the airlock, having finally snapped, but Kirk's jaw pops once and nothing else happens.

However, strangely enough, it's Chee who sits back, amused at the loaded silence. "My Lady," he rumbles, "is not Ruti. Lock the chit up. I don't care."

"There's someone else?" presses Wardyn, straightening up. "Who?"

"Not the mastermind," guesses Kirk, turning his head toward Wardyn. "Ruti was operating as the brains and the power."

Chee narrows his gaze. "I have brains."

They ignore that. 

"Captain," Kirk's First Officer chimes in, "earlier today you suggested there must be an injured party in Dr. McCoy's care."

Kirk's gaze widens slightly. "Of course! The _Lady_ ," he repeats to Chee. "She needed medical aid, and that's why you took McCoy."

Chee grunts. "Yes, the Lady needed a healer." He eyes them shrewdly. "We both need protection. You protect us, and I'll show you where your McCoy is. And Ruti."

"Protect you. From who?" Kirk asks sharply.

Wardyn stands up and pulls the captain aside. "We can't give a kidnapper safe harbor."

Kirk's gaze darkens. "Agreeing is the fastest way to McCoy."

"It's a _bad_ idea."

"I don't care."

"Kirk, I understand your concern. I even sympathize with it. But this deal will never fly with your superiors."

"I'll repeat myself only once, Commander," Kirk states softly. "I do not care."

Wardyn stares, taken aback. Kirk may be young, the youngest captain ever in Starfleet and commanding their flagship no less, but the man is obviously not stupid. For reasons he is not willing to disclose to outsiders, to Kirk his career isn't nearly as important as the safe return of this Dr. McCoy. 

Wardyn can almost respect that kind of foolishness. And it's clear Kirk and his team will do whatever they want with or without Port Authority to back them up.

Just what this place doesn't need more of, cowboys and their lawlessness running rampant over the docks.

He sighs through his nose, knowing he's lost this battle. "Captain, to be clear: if I'm asked why I didn't stop you, I will say you didn't give me an option."

"I'm not, sir." The corner of Kirk's mouth twitches with humor. "Although, if you think it would add flare to the explanation, I can punch you."

"You seem a little too eager to use your fists."

Kirk loses all signs of good humor. "If I had used them when they would have made a difference, maybe we wouldn't be here. Maybe McCoy would."

"Maybe things would be worse." Wardyn gives Kirk a sympathetic look. "You're a captain. You know how to gamble—but gambling with other lives never makes for an easy choice."

"Yeah." Kirk glances toward his First Officer. Then he refocuses his attention on Chee. "We need him and he knows it. But it sounds like he needs us too."

"Don't worry. He'll definitely try something. I recognize his type too. We'll be on guard."

"We all will," agrees the captain, beckoning Mr. Spock to come over. "Spock, an idea crossed my mind. If Chee and Ruti were in a rush to move Bones, is it possible they already have an escape plan in place?"

"A means of escape which either could execute without the other. It is something to consider, Captain."

Kirk turns back to Wardyn, but Wardyn says without having to be asked, "I can grant you access to our departure rosters. But, Kirk, are you sure about this?"

"I know what's been bothering me this entire time," Kirk says, lowering his voice to be heard by the three of them. "Ruti had us at her mercy. Why, then, leave this one behind when she could have used her power to help him escape with her? Because, to her, he is not a threat," the captain determines, "even knowing he could betray her."

"And therefore a suitable distraction," Wardyn supplies.

"To buy needed time. The only thing I can think of which has to require time to execute is an arrival or departure."

"Very logical, Jim," Mr. Spock says approvingly.

A smile flickers at the corners of Kirk's mouth, just briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

The port commander waves the guards toward Chee. "We're very short on time, then, if they boarded a ship."

"I should like to look that roster as soon as possible, sir," Mr. Spock says.

Wardyn agrees. Then he and Kirk study one another as Chee is led back to the detention center, with Kirk ordering Spock to keep an eye on the large alien.

Wardyn asks Kirk, "What comes next?"

"We recover my Chief Medical Officer."

"After that," he presses, sensing something brewing behind Kirk's reluctance to be forthcoming that makes him uneasy. "Do you have a plan to subdue the person who took him?"

Kirk's expression tightens. "I'm working on it."

Wardyn says, "I trust that you will, Captain—and that you share it when the time comes. Don't forget, we both have officers on the line in this operation."

Kirk nods shortly, then moves past Wardyn to catch up to the security detail.

~~~

"When will she wake up, Doctor?"

Leonard wipes sweat from his brow, feeling worse than all those times he had been dragged across grueling terrain by Jim during that first-year survival course for cadets at the Academy. Not that that had been _his_ requirement; no, his friend had volunteered him to go along as a field medic. He should have known then that was merely a taste of the adventures to come if he stayed partnered with James T. Kirk.

"She shouldn't just yet, I'm afraid. Damn idiots, whoever you paid to transport her." He eyes the scuff marks on the outside of the container now pushed aside. "They weren't gentle. I re-stabilized her but I'm worried, Ruti. If her fever builds any more, I won't have enough medicine to treat it." _And I'm only winging it now, with the basic medicine you gave me,_ he doesn't add. Ruti is so tight-lipped about where her group comes from, and there are any number of humanoid species Leonard has heard of outside of the Federation whom he has never seen in person, and probably many more he is unaware of. But there is no point in arguing with his captor for more information. Ruti is as intractable as a Vulcan when it comes to sharing personal details. 

He sighs. She's afraid. First, of her Lady dying and, second, of her cousin. Under normal circumstances, Leonard would be more sympathetic, but he's a peace-maker at heart. Nothing good ever comes of forcing others to do one's bidding. Just look at what happened in that bar, to Jim and—

He shuts down that line of thinking, almost scared. Ruti is still connected to him somehow and she has already picked up on private feelings he thought he had buried deep enough in his heart they wouldn't surface again. 

But damn it, he's apparently no less in love with Jim Kirk than he was years ago. And the fact that, lately, his reactions to Spock have been embarrassingly un-platonic... What a mess. When it comes to his love life, he cannot ever seem to have a normal one. It's his fault. He knows that.

As if lifting weights are strapped to his arms, he reaches for his patient's wrist again to count her heartbeat. He has that old scanner to do it for him but there's something about feeling a pulse with his thumb. It keeps him personally invested in the well-being of his patient. Some doctors think of their patients as a series of trends and stats on a PADD. Are the stats performing well, or aren't they? He never wants to be _that_ clinically detached from saving lives. 

"You should reconsider taking her to the local ward," he says. "They can do more for her there than I can with antiquated tools."

"You underestimate your abilities, Dr. McCoy. My Lady was on the verge of death before placed in your care." Ruti lays her hand against the woman's cheek. "Now my hope is restored. I may hear her voice again."

McCoy says nothing of the longing in her voice—or that, accidentally or not, he can feel it too. Ironically, it seems like a reflection of his own longing. 

Ruti retracts her hand and sits back on her haunches. "But we must survive what is to come, or all your work will be undone."

Oh, he is not a fan of the sound of that, even knowing what she means. "Tell me again why we can't go to the authorities and say you have a psychopath on your tail?"

Ruti shoots him an amused look. "I never told you the first time."

He mutters something unpleasant about her under his breath and feels her amusement grow. "Well, how long can we hide here?"

"Are you capable of fighting, Doctor?"

That is an abrupt change of topic, and not a welcome one. "Capable? Yes. But I prefer only doing so in self-defense."

"I do not speak of fighting with the physical body."

He pales.

She goes on, as if unaware of the sudden, subtle trembling of his normally steady hands. "I sense an untapped strength in you."

"I have no psychic abilities. I'm practically a negative on the esper rating scale," he says, voice harder, clipped, as fear stirs in the back of his mind.

"You do not possess the ability to attack another with your thoughts, that is correct. But I have learned through my travels that many species in this galaxy are not unlike mine, however limited their natural talents are. You, Dr. McCoy, can protect yourself if you are properly schooled. And you will need to," Ruti adds gravely.

She means her cousin is going to kill him. By saving this woman's life—no, by simply being here—his life is forfeit like the rest. _Oh hell_ , he thinks. His mouth, the traitorous thing, says, "If I have to train to keep the bad guys out of my head, it's not you I'm gonna learn from."

"Ah." Ruti studies him briefly. "You consider your Vulcan companion a sufficient teacher?"

Leonard nods. "Not that he'd like the idea, but I trust him." Would Spock be gentle in his instruction? Undoubtedly. Patient? More patient than Leonard himself would be. They could set it up like a collaborative experiment, take notes, review his progress together. There would be valuable results to share based on his rate of adaptability, and there cannot be many instances of humans learning the art of mental shielding, especially from Vulcans. Did Spock's mother ever learn from his father?

Oh yes, Spock would be the perfect teacher. 

Leonard realizes he is flushed, perhaps a bit excited by the prospect. Damn, he must really be ill (and possibly out of his mind). Being tempted to take a mental joyride with Spock must be a side-effect of Ruti running roughshod over his mind to control him.

"We have a compromise," Ruti says as though Leonard needs the reminder. "I must return you, yet the task seems impossible to execute." She stands up and turns to him. "What if I bring the Vulcan to you? Would that satisfy my debt?"

"Not if you intend to harm either of us or steal us away," Leonard says carefully. "And is Spock in any condition to face this powerful cousin of yours?" Why did he say that? But it's true. He's not comfortable with the idea of luring Spock into a desperate, deadly situation. Not simply to save his own life. 

Ruti says nothing for an oddly long moment.

Leonard presses his mouth flat. "What? Did I offend you? Did I just shoot down your best idea?"

"No," she murmurs at last. "You gave me an idea, Doctor."

He springs to his feet—and instantly regrets it as the room spins a bit. While steadying himself against the wall and trying to ignore his vertigo, he snaps at her, "Whatever your bright idea is, forget it!"

She cocks her head curiously at him. "Why are you upset?"

"Because you're going to use somebody, I can tell, and it's probably Spock. Well, leave him alone!"

She nods, satisfied by something. "You are surprisingly intuitive. I was thinking of your Vulcan. With his strength added to mine, it would be possible to stop my cousin."

"No!" says Leonard, more alarmed than before. "By 'stop' you mean murder. Spock won't help you do that." _And I won't let him._

She finally looks irritated. "Our people are not so different. Violence is inbred in us to a degree. Why do you pretend otherwise?"

"It's not pretense, Ruti. There are better pursuits than aggression. Your way leads only to death."

"Then should _we_ die instead?"

"Life takes precedence over death. Ours _and_ his. We fight if we have to, but we don't kill when there's another way."

"I do not understand you," she says, "or your beliefs but I respect your intellect. You said the Vulcan will not agree to help. Then he is of the same mind as you are."

"He's a pacifist," Leonard confirms, "like most of his people. More so than mine. It's wrong to ask him to go against that."

Ruti sighs softly. "Whatever his policies, yours, or your Federation's, I do not share them. My only concern is the strength I can bring to bear against my cousin Zanceas. He is the greater threat, therefore it would be senseless to waste myself in battle with any other." She says then, "Without the Vulcan to help you shield yourself and because you refuse my offer to teach you, you will likely die, Dr. McCoy."

"I was going to die someday anyway." Leonard drops his arms to his sides. "If we're done here, back to my original question: how long are we hiding out?"

"We are not hiding. The captain informed me of a malfunction that prevents us from departing. He is lying, of course. We will go nowhere in this ship." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Zan will find us here soon."

Leonard hesitates a moment, then takes a seat again beside his patient's bed. "So we're waiting for him to show up and wreak havoc?"

"No," she answers, "those we wait for seek _you_."

McCoy's stomach drops.

 _Chee will lead them here_ , her mind whispers to his, _and my promise to you shall be fulfilled._

But what is she going to do with Jim and the others?

The doctor meets her gaze and shudders. 

_Rest_. The suggestion floats to him, unbidden. _Rest now, Dr. McCoy._

His eyes close of their own accord, and faintly he feels his body slide sideways off its chair and slump to the floor. Then he senses Ruti retreating from the room until even that sensation, too, fades.

Floating in darkness, he waits for fear and loneliness. But he is not alone, discovering instead unexpected comforts: A hand on his shoulder. _Jim_. Fingers lightly pressed to his cheek and nose. _Spock_.

He doesn't know where these feelings come from or why he is able to conjure them. Leftover memories, perhaps? 

It doesn't matter, he decides. He exists with the ones he loves in a place where no one can keep them apart.

~~~

Spock stops talking mid-sentence and stares blankly. A thousand red alerts go off in Jim's head. He catches the Vulcan by the shoulders, giving Spock a slight shake. The other officers in the utilitarian van snap to attention.

Wardyn twists around from the front passenger seat. "Kirk?"

Kirk blocks them all out, including the staring Chee and one of the prisoner's guards who nervously lays a hand on the phaser on his belt.

"Spock?" he calls quietly, tightening his grip on his second-in-command's shoulders.

Spock blinks. "Captain?" Then, "Jim, I felt—" He falls silent, blinking again, and lifts a hand to Kirk's face.

Jim freezes at first, then realizes Spock is moving slowly enough to give him time to dodge the touch. Then when Spock's hand hovers a moment to allow Jim more time to decide, he relaxes his grip on Spock, a tacit agreement to proceed. If Spock needs to communicate with him in this way, then what he needs to share must be important—and only remain between them.

Cool fingertips align to his face. Jim has a fleeting apprehension, not because he worries about what Spock is doing (or is capable of doing) but out of instinct when at the precipice of something very outside of normal for him. And no matter how many times Kirk and Spock connect through the mind-meld, it always feels a bit strange.

This isn't the usual push of information, Jim quickly comprehends. This is... _Bones?_

Spock's voice follows. _Yes. I felt a... calling._

 _Bones can call to you telepathically?_ Jim is both shocked and bemused. _Since when?_

Amusement flows from the Vulcan. _You worry needlessly. Leonard has not gained the ability to read minds._ A pause, then. _The moment Ruti attacked, I knew she intended to take him from us. I had but a moment to react, to connect with him. It was done in haste, so that link is merely a thread. When conscious, he would not be aware of it and therefore she would not detect it in his mind._

_You're telling me you created a way for us to track Bones?_

_Unfortunately not. Such would require a stronger link. However, I can monitor his well-being and provide strength if needed. Hope._ More hesitation, a surfacing of doubt. _It would have been proper to ask permission first._

 _McCoy would understand._ Jim feels certain of that.

The doubt vanishes, after which Spock informs Jim gravely, _This is why I cannot return to the ship. Over that distance, the thread would dissolve._

 _Understood._ Jim feels Spock's amusement again. _What?_

_We have attracted an abnormal amount of attention, Captain._

Jim works that out and becomes slightly embarrassed. _Next time, ensuring there's a little privacy first would be best, Mr. Spock._

_I quite agree._

_Anything else?_

_Negative,_ Spock replies, but some part of Kirk recognizes Spock's mind analyzing new information and drawing a conclusion he would like to share. Why Spock holds back, Jim does not know.

The Vulcan withdraws his mind and then, in view of everybody else, his hand from Jim's face. The silence afterward inside the van is notably awkward.

"Kirk." Commander Wardyn clears his throat. "Care to share with the class?"

There isn't much Kirk can tell them except, "Mr. Spock thinks McCoy is nearby but unconscious.

No one asks how Spock would know that, or why he had to express it to Jim in such an unusual fashion. Jim gets the feeling that no one dares to ask—and that makes it easier for everyone, himself included. He couldn't explain it without admitting to a few other truths.

But now he is convinced he needs to more deeply consider the possibilities inherent in what Spock can do and offer. Threads and links, varying in strength and capacity. New, intimate ways to unite alike minds. Yes, very interesting possibilities, indeed. In the near future, Jim has some homework to do discreetly on the various Vulcanian telepathic bonds. M'Benga might know something useful.

After Bones is safely returned to where he belongs, Kirk promises silently. When his head turns to Spock, he is unsurprised to see the reflection of a similar promise in Spock's dark eyes.

Satisfied that Spock has his own reasons to pursue a new facet to their relationship, Kirk faces the others, mentally steeling himself for the likely hostile reception awaiting them at their destination.


End file.
